Your Brother's Keeper
by Eideann
Summary: An unwelcome guest crashes dinner at the Eppes residence and tries to take Charlie away by force. Foiled by happenstance, will he come back for another try? Will the FBI be able to stop him if he does? What does he want? Rated for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a finished story. I will try to post on it at last twice a week, but I'm doing some of the editing as I go, and I still have to split it into sections. For those of you reading my other stories, this should have no impact on them. Please enjoy, and remember, reviews are the stuff of life.

**Chapter 1**

For the first time in more than a month, all three of them had gathered for dinner. Charlie still had a few midterms to grade upstairs, but other than that, his classes were quiet. Don had just wrapped up a very complex case that had, for a wonder, not involved Charlie's math. It had however, involved their father's city planning knowledge, which made for an odd change. Don had been working late every night lately, getting all the loose ends tucked away neatly.

"So, is that Walters case finally wrapped up?" Charlie asked when his father and brother had paused in their colloquy about baseball.

Don nodded. "Tied up in a neat little bow," he said.

"Will I have to testify?" their father asked, and Don shook his head.

"He pled out," he said with evident satisfaction. "Case is over and done with, and he's going away for life."

"Glad to hear it," his dad said. "I didn't want to testify anyway." He stood up. "Anyone want pie?"

"Pie?" Don asked, sounding amused. "Who doesn't want pie?"

"Is there ice cream?" Charlie asked with a grin.

"Pie a la mode, coming up," their father said. He picked up all three plates and shouldered the swinging door to the kitchen open. "You want ice cream, too, Donnie?"

"Sure," Don called. "So, Charlie, I hear that the Naked Cannibals are in town next week, you going?"

"Amita got tickets," Charlie said, waggling his eyebrows. "I –" He broke off when he noticed that his father appeared to be moving backwards through the door. "Something wrong, Dad?"

"You could say that." He backed into the room followed by a silencer and the pistol it was attached to. Charlie stared in shock at the weapon trained on his father's head, barely able to register the black-clad man who held it. His dinner twisted sharply in his gut. Sick with fear, he sat frozen in his chair. Don made an abortive movement as though to grab his own gun, but that lay on the hall table as always. He froze, too, radiating helpless fury.

The man with the pistol spoke, his voice muffled by the mask he wore. "Agent Eppes, Dr. Eppes, please stand up slowly and step away from the table. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Charlie's gut twisted even more savagely, but he looked to Don for guidance. His brother nodded very slightly, then rose slowly and held his hands up and away from his body at about the level of his head. After a brief struggle to regain control of himself, Charlie followed his example. It felt very weird and awkward, standing there with his arms at odd angles to his body. "All right, Mr. Eppes, please put the plates down and drag your chair out from the table, then sit down."

Charlie saw his father glance at Don, and then he did what he was told.

"What's going on here?" Don asked.

"Agent Eppes, you pull your chair out, too, and sit down."

"Why don't you tell me what's going on?" he asked again, not moving.

Unbelievably, the man chuckled. "You don't honestly think I'm going to answer that question, do you, Agent Eppes?" he asked. Don glowered at him, but he didn't say anything. "Now, please, sit down."

Charlie could see the tension in Don's jaw as he sat down, and the man reached into a pocket and tossed a roll of duct table onto the dining table where it rolled briefly and then spiraled to a flat position in front of Charlie. "Dr. Eppes, please tie your brother up."

Outraged, Charlie glared at the intruder. "No!" he exclaimed, his hands lowering automatically. "Are you crazy? What do you want?"

The man cocked his pistol, barrel still pointing straight at Alan's head. Their father's eyes were wide, but his expression was otherwise blank, as if on overload. Charlie's heart lurched. The intruder spoke again, his voice still quiet and very calm. "Dr. Eppes, I want you to pick up that tape and tie your brother up, please."

"Do it, Charlie," Don said softly. Charlie turned to look at him, then reached out and picked up the tape. Panic hovered beneath the surface of his mind, but he walked over to where Don sat, painfully aware of the man threatening his father's life. He stared down at Don, not at all certain where to begin.

"Wrap it around his wrists, please." Charlie started slightly at the politely worded command. Taking a deep breath, he tore off a length of tape and wrapped it loosely around Don's wrists. "Tighter," the man added, and Charlie grimaced. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but a glance upward into Don's eyes reassured him that he was doing the right thing. He began to wrap the tape more tightly around Don's wrists, trying to make it look right without actually making it impossible for Don to get himself loose. He wanted his brother to be able to get away as soon as possible. "Now, Agent Eppes, sit back in your chair, and Dr. Eppes, wrap the tape around his torso and the chair back several times."

"It's okay, Charlie," Don muttered almost soundlessly. Charlie disagreed, but he didn't say so. He stood up and began wrapping the tape around Don's body, again trying to keep it from being too firmly attached without being obvious about it.

"Now, please tie your father up in the same way."

"I can't tie my father up!" Charlie protested. "No way!"

"Would you rather I shot him?" the man asked, his tone very polite and inquiring.

"I'd rather you left," Charlie snapped.

The man took in a breath and sighed deeply. "Dr. Eppes, all of this is merely a temporary inconvenience. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner it will all be over."

Gritting his teeth, Charlie knelt down in front of his father, who held out his arms in a peculiarly helpful gesture. "This is creepy," Charlie muttered, but he began to wrap the tape around his father's wrists. He noticed as he did so that his father was keeping his wrists very slightly bent, so that no matter how tightly Charlie appeared to wrap the tape, it wouldn't really be constricting. He then wrapped the tape around his father's torso till he, too, was bound to his chair. "My turn now?" he asked, tilting his head.

Standing behind his father's chair, Charlie was much closer to the intruder than he had been before. He saw a pleased smile enter the man's eyes, and it increased his alarm. "Now, Dr. Eppes," the man said, his voice rich with satisfaction, "now you will come quietly out of the house to my vehicle." Charlie felt a chill of fear settle in his gut. This was about him?

"What?" Don exclaimed, jerking forward against his bonds. "Like hell he will!"

The intruder turned towards Charlie expectantly. He still hadn't moved, stunned by the unexpected request, just staring at the man. They were less than three feet apart and the man still had his gun trained on Charlie's father's head. Rising panic had constricted Charlie's throat so much that he had to force himself to breathe. Blue eyes met and held Charlie's brown. "Dr. Eppes, I will shoot your father if you refuse. Is that what you want?"

Charlie took a reluctant step towards the man with the gun. "Charlie, do not go with him!" Don ordered, but how could Charlie refuse with his father's life under threat?

"Charlie, run!" his father exclaimed. Charlie felt himself start to shake as he looked back and forth between his father and his brother, torn and almost frozen by panic.

The intruder spoke, his voice a calm counterpoint to the anger in Don's and the fear in his father's, compelling Charlie to listen. "Let me lay it out for you, Dr. Eppes," he said. "I can shoot them both and take you, or I can leave them both alive and take you." Don was yelling, but the gun was as compelling to Charlie's attention as was the voice. Charlie's heart was beating very fast. His eyes met the man's again, serene pools of blue that trapped him. Almost sympathetically, the man said, "It's up to you, Dr. Eppes, but you have to decide now."

Charlie took a shuddering breath. "When you put it that way . . ."

"Charlie, no!" Don yelled.

Charlie was about to take another step when a loud crash shook the room. It was followed by a feminine shout. "Nobody move!"

Charlie turned to see Megan standing in the doorway, her gun held in a firm grip, pointing at the blue-eyed man. A second later, arms seized him around the neck and chest, then he felt the cold muzzle of the silencer pressing under his chin. "Stay right where you are, Agent Reeves," the man ordered, pulling Charlie backwards. He felt paralyzed. He'd nearly been shot twice now, but he'd never been this close to the person trying to shoot him. His feet moved backwards automatically, keeping him from falling down.

"Banana slug!" his brother shouted suddenly. Charlie reacted automatically, going entirely limp. His dead weight carried him right out of the man's arms, and he landed with a thump on the floor where he continued to lie still. There was an unsilenced gun shot, and then he heard footsteps running out the back door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Don took a deep breath. His brother was safe. "Megan, go after them!" he ordered.

"Larry, get inside!" she snapped, turning toward the door.

The physicist lurched inside, eyes wide with alarm. He had Megan's cell phone pressed to his ear. "They're on their way," he said.

"Good. Hang up and call the others. They're two and four on the speed dial."

Don shook his head. "Megan, go –"

"I am not leaving the three of you, plus Larry, unprotected!" she snapped.

"Fuck!" Don growled. She was right, damn her. He shook his head. "Larry! Larry, get me loose!"

Larry's eyes darted towards him, but his mind was clearly on the phone. "David, hello! Good, um . . . Megan, what do I tell him?"

"Tell him shots fired and to get his ass over here."

Larry opened his mouth to speak, but then paused, looking startled. "Charlie's house," he said. He flipped the phone shut, looking shell-shocked. "I think he heard you. He hung up."

"Okay, call Colby," Megan said.

"Get me loose!"

Charlie rose up from the floor looking stunned and very vague. He managed to come around to Don, though, and started ripping the duct tape off.

"Charlie, you okay, buddy?"

"No," Charlie said. His eyes were fixed on the duct tape, and he just didn't seem to be all there.

When Don was loose, he turned Charlie to face him. "Buddy, can you . . ." The question died on his lips because the answer was so very evident. "Sit down before you fall down," he said, and he guided Charlie into his own chair.

Don darted into the entry hall and pulled his gun from its holster on the hall table. He noticed vaguely that Larry had started untying his father. There were footsteps on the porch and Don brought his gun up at the same moment Megan did, pointing at whoever was coming up the stairs. David paused in the middle of pushing open the dangling door. "Hey, guys, it's me," he said.

Don nodded. "Good. Check upstairs, make sure everything's clear." As David started up the stairs, gun in hand, he added, "One intruder, maybe more!"

Don turned back to his family dining table where Charlie still sat like a statue. Their father was hovering over him, clearly uncertain what to do. Larry was peeking in through the swinging door into the kitchen.

"Larry!" Don called, and the physicist jerked back into the dining room.

"What?"

"Stay in here. We don't know if that area's secure yet."

"Megan's in there!" Larry protested.

Don understood his dismay, but he couldn't afford to have his civilians wandering too far. "Go sit down next to Charlie, please."

"Of course," Larry said, beginning to nod earnestly. "You're in charge. I just . . . okay." He walked over and sat down.

"Why did you guys come here?" Don asked.

"We were out," Larry said. "For dinner. Duck, actually. Very good duck."

Don stomped hard on his frustration. At the best of times, Larry's answers tended to be circular. "And?"

"And I wanted to ask Charles about . . ." He paused, then shook his head. "Math. I wanted to talk math."

"Well, thank God for math, then," Don's father said, sinking into a chair. "Charlie, you okay?"

Charlie went rigid suddenly, his focus on the door. "Don?" he said, his voice filled with anxiety.

Don heard what he had, feet on the front porch. Heart thudding in his chest, he prepared for the intruders. It was probably the police, but it wouldn't pay to be unprepared. A moment later, he found himself in a face off with a pair of LAPD's finest, who seemed quite alarmed to be facing a man with a gun.

"LAPD, freeze!" the older of the two ordered. "Lower the gun sir, and place it on the floor."

Don did as he was told. Nervous patrolmen should not be disobeyed without very good reason. He cleared his throat as he stood up again. "I'm Special Agent Don Eppes of the FBI," he said. "If I can just get my ID out?" He nodded towards his pocket.

"Very slowly, sir," the older patrolman said. The younger man was keeping a wary eye on the group of men around the table.

Don eased his badge holder out of his pocket and held it out to the patrolman who examined it and handed it back. As he did so, he said, "Agent Eppes, were you aware that you're bleeding?"

What?" Charlie exclaimed, staggering to his feet, startling the younger officer. "Don, are you okay?"

Don shot a withering look at the older man and turned towards his brother. Their dad already had an arm around his shoulder, but Charlie's urgency was hard to deny. "I'm fine, buddy," he said, only then glancing down to see what the injury might be. It looked like some of the tape had taken skin with it. "It's nothing, just a scratch."

"He was going to shoot Dad," Charlie said, eyes wide. "He was going to shoot Dad."

"But he didn't," Dad said, and he got Charlie to sit down again. "Megan stopped him." He looked up. "Speaking of which, where is Megan?"

That called an important point to Don's mind and he nodded absently, turning back to the patrolmen. "Officer . . . Niles?" he said to the older man, peering at the name on his badge. The man nodded. "There are two other federal agents in the house, one upstairs and one in the back." He gestured with his head towards the kitchen door, then glanced down at his gun. Niles nodded. He bent and picked it up. "And one more is on the way."

"We had a report of shots fired," Niles said, glancing at the others. "I take it no one was injured?"

"All clear up here, Don," David said, trotting down the stairs.

Both officers jumped slightly at the sudden appearance, and the younger man, whose name Don still hadn't gotten, aimed his piece at David. "This is Special Agent David Sinclair," Don said. The younger officer lowered his gun slowly. "David, go check on Megan, would you?" David nodded and disappeared through the swinging door.

"Agent Eppes?" Niles said. Don glanced over at Charlie, who still seemed pretty out of it. After his outburst, he'd subsided again into a shocky state. It was worrisome, but Don had other duties to attend to. Their dad and Larry would see to Charlie. He met his father's eyes briefly, not sure if he was seeking or offering comfort. He looked back towards Officer Niles, who was waiting patiently. "This is Officer Loreto," he said. "Now, can you tell me what happened?"

Walking over, he spoke in a low voice, keeping a weather eye on Charlie's reactions. "There was at least one intruder."

Niles made a note, then glanced at the damaged front door. "Home invasion?"

Don shook his head. "Not exactly," he said, contemplating that insane ten minutes. "Anyway, they came in the back."

Niles nodded to his partner, who headed towards the kitchen door. Meanwhile, Niles continued his questioning. "What happened to the door?"

Before Loreto reached the kitchen door, Megan came through it. "They made a clean getaway, Don," she said. "You want me to call Evidence Response?"

"Yeah, and get some paramedics out here. I want someone to take a look at Charlie."

"Agent Eppes, this really isn't FBI jurisdiction," Niles said. "What is the FBI doing here anyway?"

Jurisdiction was the least of Don's concerns at the moment. He turned back to Niles, eyes narrowed. "I was having dinner with my father and brother, who live here," he said heavily, and Niles' eyes widened slightly.

"Don!" Colby came in the front door. "Larry called and –" He paused, taking in the damage to the door and the gathering of people. "Holy shit. What happened?"

"It looks like they jimmied the lock," Megan said, gesturing towards the back door. "I'd guess there were at least two of them from the footprints."

"Excuse me," Niles interjected. "Can someone please tell me what happened? We had a report of shots fired. Was anyone injured, and who shot who?"

"Whom," Larry said, and Don pressed his lips together. There were moments for grammar corrections, and this wasn't one.

"I beg your pardon?" Niles asked.

"You want to know who shot whom," Larry said.

"Right," Niles said. "Whatever. Who shot whom."

"That would be me," Megan said. "Special Agent Megan Reeves. And I think I might have winged the guy who grabbed Charlie. There's blood in the kitchen and on the back walk, anyway."

"Who grabbed Charlie?" Colby demanded.

"Who _is _Charlie?" Niles asked, finally starting to sound exasperated. "What happened?"

Don took a deep breath, summoning his patience. "Okay, Charlie, Dad and I were having dinner." He gestured to indicate which name meant which man, though in his father's case that was probably superfluous. "Dad got up to take the dishes into the kitchen and grab dessert, and someone . . . well, all I saw was that he started backing up and a guy with a gun followed him out. What did you see, Dad?"

"A guy with a gun." His father was sitting next to Charlie, a hand on his shoulder. "Beyond that I didn't do much looking."

Don grimaced. "Right. Well, then he ordered me and my dad to sit down, made Charlie tie us up with duct tape." He glanced down and saw strings and stains of adhesive on his shirt. "Then he told Charlie to – let me get the words right, to 'come quietly outside to his vehicle.' Fortunately, at that point Megan showed up and broke in through the front door. The guy grabbed Charlie, Charlie dropped, and Megan shot once before the guy was out of sight in the kitchen."

Niles turned towards Megan. "Agent Reeves, why did you happen to show up at just that moment?"

Megan shrugged. "We drop in on occasion. Larry – Dr. Larry Fleinhardt – is an old family friend of theirs and I'm on Don's team. Larry wanted to pose a math conundrum to Charlie and insisted we come by." She made a face, glancing around the room. "As it happens, I'm glad we did."

"And the relationship between you and Dr. Fleinhardt is . . ."

"Structured," she said with an odd grin. Niles looked puzzled, and well he might. Megan bit her lip. "Sorry, Larry is my boyfriend. We were out for dinner, Larry had a sudden flash of insight and we stopped by."

"And Agents Sinclair and . . ." He paused, looking expectantly at Colby.

"Granger," Colby supplied. "Special Agent Colby Granger."

"Why did you come by?"

"Larry called," Colby said. "He seemed quite urgent, and I can see why." He was looking anxiously at Charlie.

Megan cleared her throat. "I had Larry call 911, and then he called Colby and David. I mean, there was an attack on the family of our team leader." She shrugged, and Niles nodded his understanding.

"I see," Niles said. "All right, then, I'm going to get our evidence squad out and –"

"I really think the Bureau's going to want to take this one," Don said.

"I'll have to talk to my superiors about that, but in the meantime we need to move forward with the investigation."

At that moment, just to complicate matters, two different groups showed up, Evidence Response and a pair of detectives evidently summoned by Officer Loreto. As the jurisdictional bidding war heated up, Charlie shrank, and Don wanted to wade in and start punching people. In the midst of the furor, one of the detectives demanded loudly, "What makes you think this has anything at all to do with the FBI?"

There was a brief lull in the babble, then Don heard a voice he hadn't expected. "He knew her name." Charlie still seemed pretty freaked, but he was looking at Don.

One of the detectives started to say something, but the other one hushed him. Don said, "What do you mean, Charlie?"

"Megan. He knew her name. He called me Dr. Eppes, you Agent Eppes, Dad Mr. Eppes, and he called Megan Agent Reeves."

Don nodded. Reviewing the scene in his head, he realized Charlie was right. "That definitely suggests an FBI connection," he said.

"Or that he's been watching your family," Niles observed.

"Why?" Charlie's eyes abruptly focused on Don's. "Why would he do that?"

Don shook his head. "I don't know, buddy, I don't know." Charlie sounded like a scared ten-year-old, arousing all Don's protective instincts. He saw the pitying assessments the cops were making, and he resented it. "But we're going to find out," he added. He raised his voice. "The attempted kidnapping of a consultant for multiple federal agencies definitely falls under Bureau jurisdiction."

"Multiple agencies?" repeated one of the detectives, a wart named Lassiter, giving Charlie an incredulous look.

Don raised a hand and began counting on his fingers. "FBI, CIA, NSA, Treasury Department . . . I could go on." The wart's partner put a hand on his arm to forestall a response. Don thought it was a wise move. Colby looked about ready to explode, and David just looked cold. "I am asserting FBI jurisdiction over this case, so this is our crime scene. I'd appreciate it if everyone else would vacate the premises."

"You can't do that!" Lassiter protested.

Don glanced over at Megan. He'd been aware of her reclaiming her phone from Larry and making a call. She was now talking intently to someone, and he had a feeling he knew who. As their eyes met, she gave a slight nod.

He smiled grimly. "It's already done. Gentlemen, this scene is ours. Thank you for your concern, but we're taking it from here."

There was a great deal of grumbling, but the LAPD folks finally left. Don walked out on the porch to watch them go. The house had taken on an air of clinical resolve, familiar to him after years of criminal investigation. Evidence Response had cleared Charlie and the others into the living room so they could examine the scene. Don ground his teeth on a surge of anger. Their family dining room should _not _be a crime scene. He shook his head, trying to clear emotion from it. Megan had gone out with Evidence Response to show them the blood and the footprints. Colby was in the living room, keeping an eye on the civilians, and David was standing on the porch, too, in companionable silence. Don realized abruptly that he hadn't been present for the explanation. He filled him quickly, and as he finished, a black sedan pulled up. Don stared perplexedly as the door opened and Special Agent Fogarty got out, followed by Special Agent Vargas. He walked out to meet them.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked.

Fogarty gave him a sympathetic grimace. "Hey, Eppes. Look, the Bureau is taking over this case, but they aren't going to let you investigate the attempted abduction of your own brother."

Don's jaw dropped. Intellectually, he knew that, but his mind had been merrily ignoring the fact. "Um . . . no offense, but Charlie's kind of freaked right now. I don't know how he's going to take to strangers asking him a lot of questions."

Fogarty's expression shifted, and Don recognized the look. It was the 'dealing with irrational relatives' look. "Don, if he needs you, you can stay with him, but . . ." He shook his head. "But we're going to need to question you, too, and you know as well as I do that it's better to question witnesses separately."

Don scowled. He knew that, but he didn't want to hear it. Damn it, this was Charlie. Charlie, acting like a ten-year-old. The last thing they needed was for him to go all P vs. NP over this.

"I can stay with him, Don," David said.

"Were you here for the incident?" Vargas asked.

David shook his head. "I arrived just before the police did."

Fogarty nodded. "That'll work, then, but Don, I'm sure your brother doesn't need anyone to hold his hand."

David took a deep breath and didn't glance at Don, his very forbearance revealing his awareness of Don's mood. "Okay, who do you want first and where do you want to do this?"

"Is there a good private spot?" Fogarty asked.

"Did anyone check the solarium?" Don asked.

"Yeah, there was no sign that anyone had been in there."

"Then that's your best bet," Don said.

"Okay, then, lead the way."

Don showed Fogarty and Vargas to the solarium and sat down with them. It was hardly the first time he'd been questioned by colleagues, but it was the first time he'd been the 'victim.' He didn't like the sensation. He also didn't know either Fogarty or Vargas well, which just made it worse.

When they were done, Don went out into the living room and David took Charlie back. Don stood watching the evidence team going over the dinner table with their dust and sprays. It was a all bit surreal.

Raised voices caught his attention, and, ignoring Colby's outstretched hand and Megan's exclamation, he stalked back to the solarium.

"Don told me to!" Charlie was saying loudly. "And why are you being a prick?"

"I don't think he's being a prick, Charlie," David said soothingly. "I think he's just asking what happened. You've heard us do exactly the same –"

"No, I haven't!" Charlie snapped. "I can tell the difference. You ask questions. This guy's being a prick, and I've had enough. I'm going to go check on my father." Charlie stomped out of the solarium and nearly ran into Don. He stopped briefly, startled. "I'm going to go check on Dad," he said quietly, and Don nodded. He took a controlling breath, so that he wouldn't rip Fogarty or Vargas new orifices when he went in to politely ask how they'd managed to piss off his easy-going brother.

He took one step towards the door, but before he got any further, he heard Vargas speaking. "Is he always like that?" the man asked in an offensive tone. Don found himself listening intently for the answer.

"No!" David replied angrily. "I think you just pissed him off. Maybe you should try not to be such a prick." Then David stormed out. He paused briefly when he saw Don, but Don shook his head and gestured for him to keep going. Listening to David's little burst of temper had restored Don's equilibrium, and he felt more than capable of dealing with Fogarty and Vargas.

He walked into the room where the two agents were talking quietly. "Well, gentlemen, that's two for two. I'm impressed."

"What do you mean?" Vargas demanded.

"Well, you just managed to piss off two of the most temperate men I know," Don said with an unfriendly grin. "Mind telling me just how you managed that?"

Fogarty gave Vargas a dry look. "Why don't you ask Don your question?"

"Why the hell did you tell your brother to tie you up?" Vargas asked without missing a beat. "And why did he do it?"

"What the hell do you think I should have done?" Don demanded. "The bastard had a gun to my father's head, and I didn't know he wanted my brother. For all I knew he wanted something from me, or he just wanted to rob the place, neither of which, to my mind, is a reason to let him kill my dad."

"You should have done something, not just sit down at let yourself be incapacitated."

"Did you just ask my brother why he tied me up?" Don asked, suddenly realizing what all this meant. "Did you just ask him why he tied my dad up? You son of a –"

"Okay, emotions are running a little high, here," Fogarty interjected.

"Damn right, they're running high," Don replied. "I want to know what this jackass would have done in the same situation." Vargas didn't say anything, and Fogarty looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. "Huh? What would you have done?"

Vargas shrugged. "I don't know, but . . ."

"But nothing. You would have done the same thing, and you have no right trying to tell my brother he screwed up when he's just been through what he's been through."

Vargas just glared at him, and Fogarty spoke in a 'keeping the peace' kind of voice. "Look, if we could talk to your father next, I think –"

Megan came around the corner into the solarium. "Excuse me. I don't mean to interrupt, but Evidence Response is calling it a night, and I'm not sure that's not a good idea for all of us."

"Agent Reeves, we need to get this done while the events are still fresh in everyone's minds," Fogarty said.

Megan shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "Alan was already upset about what happened tonight, and you just distressed the son it happened to. You're not exactly his favorite people right now."

"That's not the point," Fogarty said. "It's best to –"

"Everyone's tired," Megan pointed out, glancing over at Vargas. "Tired people make mistakes and aren't always very cooperative."

"Are you saying that Mr. Eppes doesn't want to cooperate?" Vargas demanded. Don had an intense desire to punch him in the nose, but Megan just tilted her head.

"Aren't we quick to jump to conclusions?" she said, and Vargas flushed angrily. "And no, at the moment he doesn't want to have anything to do with you, and who could blame him? I was talking about you." Fogarty raised his eyebrows and turned slightly away, but Vargas met her glare for glare. "Okay, run along boys," she said. "We'll all come into the office first thing, and you can question them _away _from the scene of the crime."

Vargas opened his mouth, clearly prepared to object, but Fogarty spoke first. "All right, Megan. See you in the morning. Come on, Ron, let's go." Vargas agreed with poor grace and they left. Again, Don followed his unwelcome investigators out onto the porch and watched them leave. Megan came with him, and once they were gone, she let out an explosive little sigh. "Charlie's right. He is a prick."

"What's got you so riled up?" Don asked.

She turned an incredulous look on him. "Are you serious? Charlie came out of there fit to be tied –" Don winced at the image and she held up a hand. "Sorry, bad choice of words. Anyway, he was furious, but he didn't want to talk about it. David, on the other hand . . ." She grimaced. "You know David. He wasn't foaming at the mouth or anything, but he was pissed. He told me what they asked."

"Yeah, well, I didn't hear it all, but Charlie doesn't walk out on people like that unless there's something really wrong."

Megan nodded. "Well, I wasn't exaggerating when I said everyone was tired. I think we all need to get some sleep so we'll be up to working on this in the morning."

Don blinked. "So, you going home?"

"Nope," she said. "We're staying here. I get the sofa, Larry gets the floor. David and Colby are flipping for who gets first watch."

"You guys don't all have to stay," Don started, then quickly shifted gears when Megan gave him a look, "but I'll take any help I can get." He turned and went into the house, where Charlie was pacing and muttering. Don looked around at the people gathered around. "So, I guess we're having a house party tonight," he said. "I'd offer you some beer, but –" They all nodded, but Charlie looked up.

"Beer?" he asked vaguely. "You guys want beer?"

"No, Charlie," Don said. "Hey, with all the guests we have tonight, we're doubling up. I'm sleeping in your room." Don knew he had reason to be worried when Charlie just nodded. "Let's head up to bed. You look tired, and I know I am."

"It's early," Charlie said, gesturing at the clock.

"What does early mean if you're tired?" Don replied, and Charlie nodded. Don gave his father a look he hoped was reassuring and headed upstairs with his brother. Don started to pull some blankets out of the cupboard so he could make up a bed on the floor, but Charlie shook his head.

"Bed's not a twin anymore, Don. You can share."

Don raised his eyebrows. "Right."

Once in the bedroom, Charlie pulled out a spare pair of pajama pants and tossed them at him. They changed for bed and climbed in. Don wasn't sleepy. He was up here more for Charlie's sake than anything, and so that Charlie wouldn't be alone if someone decided to come back for a second try. He didn't know if Charlie had noticed the gun Don had tucked just under the bed on his side, but he was going to be ready if need be.

It was an odd feeling. During various family get-togethers, he and Charlie had shared anything from the floor in their parents' bedroom to the lumpy pull-out sofa bed at their aunt's house. It had been years, though, and there was usually more grumbling back then about being forced to share. Don was just about convinced that Charlie was asleep when a soft voice spoke from the other side of the bed.

"Did I do the right thing, Don?"

Don wanted to strangle that idiot Vargas. "Yeah, Charlie, you did the right thing."

Charlie sighed, sounding unconvinced, but he didn't say anything for awhile. Don wanted him to sleep, and now wasn't really the time for an in-depth conversation, so he let the silence go on. After another long while, Charlie spoke again. "Do you think they'll try again?"

"Yeah, Charlie, I do," Don said. "But that's okay, because that will make them easier to catch."

Charlie let out a little chuckle that didn't sound at all amused. "So, I'm bait, huh?"

"No, you're a known target, and it's easier to catch someone who's after a known target."

"What do I do?"

"We'll talk about that tomorrow," Don said.

"No, really, Don, what do I do if they get me?"

He'd assumed Charlie was talking about what he needed to do to keep himself safe. "They're not going to get you, Charlie," Don said. "We'll see to that."

"But if they do, Don, what should I do?"

"Hang tight, and we'll find you."

"But if they ask me to do something, what do I do?" Charlie's volume was rising and the anxiety with it.

"You do whatever you have to do to stay alive until we get there. But it won't happen."

"Right," Charlie said. "It won't happen." He didn't speak again, and Don was pretty sure he went to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Megan watched the younger Eppes boys go upstairs, supremely relieved that she had given in to Larry's insistence that they drop dinner and the movie they'd planned afterwards to come here. She turned back towards the team, ready to give instructions, but she found Alan right in front of her. "I can't begin to thank you enough," he said, and she found herself on the receiving end of a fatherly kiss on the forehead. "You saved us. I don't know if either Don or Charlie will think to say anything, but I thank you."

"It was luck," Megan said uncomfortably.

"Luck! Luck favors the prepared!" Alan replied. "I don't know if that man would have shot us if Charlie had gone with him, but he was going to take him, and Charlie was going to go."

"He was what?" Colby exclaimed.

Alan nodded. "It was a very simple proposition, actually. He could shoot us and take Charlie, or he could leave us alive and take Charlie. It suited Charlie's mathematical mind."

Megan raised her eyebrows. "Really? Tell me more about what he was like."

"Strangely polite," Alan said, shaking his head. He walked over and sat down, and the rest of them gathered around. Larry turned up at Megan's side, very close. "Exceptionally polite. Lots of pleases and thank yous, and the only people who call me Mr. Eppes anymore are salespeople and police."

"Interesting." Megan sat back and considered the implications while David sat forward.

"Did you notice anything else? How did his voice sound? Did he have an accent?"

"His voice was cultured," Alan said. "But kind of fruity, you know, like a TV announcer."

"How tall was he?" Colby asked.

"I can tell you that," Megan said. "About 6'2" or thereabouts."

"I was going to say tall," Alan said, "but I wasn't sure how tall."

"Well, judging him against Charlie's height, I'd say he was about 6'2"."

"Okay, that gives us something to start with," Colby said. "Did you notice anything else? His eye color, how big was his nose?"

"When I was close enough to see his eye color, the gun had sort of arrested my attention. After that I had my back to him." He shrugged. "Charlie might know. It would depend on whether he was on fast forward or . . . pause."

"Fast forward?" Megan repeated.

"That's what Margaret called his math mode," Alan said. His eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking very old. "God, this would kill her."

Megan started to suggest that they put this off till later, but Larry shooed her out of the way and waved them all off. They gathered in front of the broken front door. "Okay, guys, which of you pulled first watch?" she asked. Colby raised his hand in a sort of wave. "Then you start patrolling, and David, you go upstairs to Don's room and get some sleep."

"Right," David said, and Colby half-saluted and went outside.

Megan glanced back at Alan. Larry was guiding him up the stairs. She was frankly worried. She didn't know how to predict how Don was going to take this. And there was one person they'd better tell before she found out some other way. She pulled out her cell phone and hit number 7 on the redial. Two rings and then Amita picked up. "Megan? Is everything all right?"

"Everyone's fine," Megan said, and she could almost hear the anxiety kick up a notch. "Look, we had a little excitement at Charlie's house tonight, and I just didn't want you to hear about it on the news."

"What are you talking about? What happened?"

"Well, a couple of guys broke in, and . . ." Megan grimaced. "I can't give you too many details on the phone, but no one was hurt."

"No one was – you mean they were home?"

"Yes, but I really can't tell you anything else on the –"

"I'll be over in five minutes," Amita announced and then hung up. Unsurprised, Megan went to the front door and alerted Colby that she was coming. In the meantime she started cleaning up the mess left by Evidence Response. She always thought it was a shame for the victims of a crime to have to clean up after both the criminals and the investigators. Besides, it gave her something to do while she thought about someone with perfect manners and an urgent need for a mathematician.

Amita arrived in approximately seven minutes and Colby delivered her to Megan. "Where's Charlie?" Amita demanded instantly.

"Upstairs, asleep," Megan said.

The other woman's eyes darted to the clock. "Charlie's asleep? This early? What happened here tonight?"

"A couple of guys broke in, and they tried to take Charlie."

Amita's eyes widened. "But he's all right?"

"A few bruises, maybe," Megan said, aware that this was only half the story. "He'll be fine. Don's with him."

"Who was it? Why did they want him? What were they going to do with him?"

"We don't know yet," Megan said. "I just thought you should know. It could be on the news because there were shots fired."

"Shots? Who got shot?"

"The guy who tried to take Charlie," Megan said. "I didn't want him to leave. Unfortunately, I must have just winged him."

"But why is Charlie in bed if he wasn't hurt?"

"Alan's gone to sleep," Larry said, coming down the stairs. "I looked in on Charles, who also appears to be asleep. Amita, when did you arrive?"

"Just now. Were you guys here? What happened?"

"We dropped by, actually," Megan said. "Larry had an insight he wanted to share, and . . ." She shrugged. If Larry had not been so persuasive . . .

"Are you saying that you were here by chance?"

"It is, perhaps, possible that our actions were guided by some unknown phenomenon – or higher power, if you will – to be here at a time of great need, but if it was by design, the plan was not ours."

Amita blinked. "So, you were here by chance," she repeated.

Larry shrugged. "So it would seem," he said.

"And if you guys hadn't happened to come by, Charlie . . ."

"Charles would in the hands of strangers with nefarious intent," Larry said, and Megan bit her lip at the terrified look on Amita's face.

"But it didn't happen. No one is hurt, everyone's here –"

Megan's Nextel beeped. "Megan, get David and get out here!" Colby said. "I just heard someone in the backyard."

"I'll fetch David," Larry said, and he disappeared upstairs again.

"Stay here," Megan ordered, and Amita stared after her as she hurried out through the back door. They made a search, but found no signs. "If anyone was here, they're long gone now," she observed.

"I know I heard something," Colby said.

"I believe you." Megan pressed her lips together. "I'm going to stay downstairs with Larry. David, you go back up to sleep." She shook her head. "I doubt they'll try again tonight. This may have been a test to see how closely we were watching."

"I don't like this, Megan," Colby said. "They came back."

"I thought they might," she replied shortly. "That's why we're here."

"I know, but they _did_," Colby said. "This is not good."

"No, it's not," she said.

"If they tried twice tonight, they'll be trying again," David said.

"Maybe we should get them out of here."

"Maybe I should call Fogarty and Vargas," Megan said. "There's no way we can get them out of here tonight."

"Fine, but then would should at least clear the house of civilians," Colby said. "I mean, non-Eppes civilians. Amita and Larry need to get out of the danger zone. They're a distraction."

Megan grimaced. "You're right. I'll tell them, but it could be a little challenging to convince them." He shrugged. "I'll take care of it. Don't drop your guard."

"Not happening."

"Megan, I think I'm going to stay up, too," David said. "I don't think I could sleep now, anyway, and tomorrow they're going to the FBI. I can sleep then."

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay, if you think you're up to it." David shrugged. "Fine. I'll be inside. Give me a call if you need me." She headed back inside where Amita was creeping slowly back down the stairs.

"I couldn't not check," she said. "Don gave me a funny look, but . . . he . . . he's okay."

"Yes, he is," Megan agreed. "Look, Amita, Larry, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for tonight."

"I am _not _leaving!" Amita declared, going from calm to fury in a split second. "You can't ask me to leave. I'm not going anywhere!"

"I know you want to stay for Charlie, but we need to narrow the pool of people who need to be protected as much as possible."

"I am sorry, but I will not be leaving, either," Larry said.

Megan blinked at him. "Larry, your being here splits my focus, and I can't afford to have my focus split. It's my job –"

"It's not your job to protect me," Larry said.

This was the first time Larry had gone all guy on her, and Megan thought he'd chosen a very bad moment. "You're a civilian, Larry. It is my job to protect you, whether you like it or not." He pulled a .357 Magnum out of the back of his pants, and Megan was stunned. "Where'd you get that?" she asked. "And having a gun doesn't make you John Wayne."

He raised an eloquent eyebrow at that, but didn't respond directly. "It belongs to Alan. He has offered me its use on many occasions, and I don't think he'd object to my use of it now. And, unlike Charlie, I am perfectly able to use a firearm. I can wield a weapon in my own defense, and in the defense of my friends. I will not leave, nor do I need to be protected."

"If he's not leaving, I'm not leaving either!" Amita announced.

Megan gave Larry a very speaking look, but he just continued to gaze calmly at her. She loved that they could have emotionally charged conversations without either of them blowing up or stomping off, but right now she wanted to strangle him. "All right, all right. David's staying up, so Amita can have Don's room. Larry, I want you to stay upstairs. Being able to shoot and knowing when to are not the same thing. Be careful."

"I will. I am a last line of defense only."

"Does Don know you're armed?"

"He does not."

"You'd better let him know – does he know you can shoot?"

"He does."

She nodded. "Go on, both of you. Amita, take a quick trip to the bathroom now, and after that, stay in Don's room all night. I don't want anyone wandering."

"Should I stay with Amita?"

"I don't think she's in any danger . . ."

"But if someone should come in through her window?"

Megan nodded. "Fine, you do that."

"And I can shoot anyone I see coming in through a window?"

"Yeah, I think you're pretty safe with that." They went up the stairs, and Megan sighed. She let the guys know about the change of plans. Colby didn't say anything about Larry with a gun, but his expression was not happy. She made the call to Fogarty, let him know that they'd had a scare but that there was nothing to see, certainly not in darkness. He offered to send more agents, but she declined. They were settled for the night, and she didn't think adding more people the equation would help at the moment.

* * *

Charlie rolled over and ran into a body in his bed. He reached out. "'mita?" he mumbled.

"Oh really?" exclaimed an obscenely loud and very male voice. "You've gone that far, have you?" Charlie sat up sharply, staring at his brother. "You awake now, Chuck?"

"Why are you in my room?" Charlie grumbled. Quite apart from the embarrassment of being caught reaching for his girlfriend when he was half asleep, he couldn't think of any reason why Don would need to be in his room. Or in his bed. Something was pinging at the back of his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Maybe you're not all the way awake yet," Don said. "Don't you remember what happened last night?"

"Last night . . . ?" Charlie blinked uneasily. Last night . . . "Oh, that," he said, remembering the feel of a cold barrel pressed under his chin. His hand crept up to where the gun had been.

"Charlie, you okay, man?" Don asked urgently. "Are you hurt? Does your neck hurt?"

"No," Charlie said, lowering his hand slowly. "I was just . . . remembering."

"You've got a bruise, I think," Don said. "Just under here." Don gestured under his own chin.

"Great," Charlie said. "And it's not turtleneck season."

Don blinked. "You don't need to hide that, Chuck," he said, watching Charlie lower his head as if to conceal the bruise. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But I don't really want to answer a lot of questions about it," Charlie said. He had visions of undergrads asking nosy questions. He shook his head, then saw the time on the clock. "I've got to get dressed!" he exclaimed, jumping up.

"You've got time for a shower, Charlie."

"You don't understand. I have a class in fifteen minutes."

"Larry left twenty minutes ago to take it."

"Larry?" Charlie said, running his fingers through his hair. "Okay, I guess, but . . . why? Why didn't you wake me?"

"I figured you needed the sleep or you'd have woken up on your own, besides, you've got somewhere else to be today."

Charlie blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

Don shrugged. "We gotta go in this morning and answer questions."

Charlie instantly shied away from another session of question and answer. "I've got another class in two hours, Don. I can't go to the FBI till after that."

"Larry will take care of it."

Charlie shook his head, shoving his way to the edge of the bed. "I have to go teach, Don. I'm not going to the FBI this morning."

"They left last night with the expectation that we would come in today, Charlie," Don said persuasively. "We have to go."

"Why do we have to go? Why can't you guys just ask whatever questions you need to here?"

"Because it's not us guys that are doing the investigation," Don said.

Charlie's jaw dropped, and he felt a sinking in his gut. "Why not?"

"Because you're my brother," Don said.

"Oh." Charlie felt incredibly let down, but it made sense. "So you guys aren't going to be looking?"

"Hell yes, we're going to be looking," Don exclaimed firmly, meeting Charlie's nervous gaze with a determined one. "Just not officially. They've assigned someone else to that, but we're going to investigate on our own, of course."

Charlie sighed with relief. Knowing his brother would be working on solving this made him feel immensely safer. A sudden thought occurred to him. "Wait, does this mean you want me to talk to that Vargas guy?" Charlie shook his head. "Don, I don't want to do that."

"I know, but this time I'll stay with you. You won't have to talk to him alone."

"Somehow I doubt he'll go for that."

"I'll take care of it, Charlie. Go on, get a shower, get cleaned up and we'll go."

Charlie nodded. He turned around and grabbed some clothes out of his dresser. He rubbed a sore spot on his ribs, and it hurt more than he expected. He pulled up his shirt to look, and Don let out an odd growl. "I didn't realize he grabbed you that hard!"

"I didn't notice," Charlie said, a little puzzled by the bruises. "I'm going go to get a shower."

"Sure."

He went out into the hall and the next moment, a body hurtled into his. "Charlie! I'm so glad you're safe!"

"Amita? When did you get here?"

"Last night. Megan called me, but you were asleep."

"So, she told you what happened?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, of course she did. Charlie, are you okay?"

"Well, I had a gun held on me in my own dining room, so, no, okay would probably be overstating it a bit, but I'll be fine. I just need to get a shower."

"You'll be fine after a shower?" Amita asked skeptically.

"No, but . . ." He rolled his eyes. "I'll be out in a minute."

She gave him a kiss. "I'll be waiting."

"Right here?"

She looked around the hallway. "Maybe not right here, but downstairs."

"Okay." He kissed her back and then went into the bathroom. Stripping off, he looked at the bruising on his ribs and his neck. Whatever Don said, it was embarrassing. Some guy had grabbed him and all he'd done was nothing. Well, not quite nothing. He'd helped him out by tying Don and his dad up. He turned away and climbed into the shower. Great, another interview with the guy who seemed to think he wanted to be kidnapped.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. They are the stuff of life. I probably won't post Chapter 4 till Sunday at the earliest, but early next week for sure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Don went and showered in the bathroom off his dad's room. He always had spare clothes here anymore, so he went into his room and got dressed. A couple of mugs of coffee sat on the desk under the window, mute testimony to the use his room had been put to during the night. He grabbed them before heading downstairs.

Bacon, eggs and toast waited on the table. It looked like his dad had gotten up early and cleaned up the dust and stuff left by Evidence Response. Don felt obscurely guilty, but he couldn't have left Charlie to wake up alone. It was kind of weird to eat breakfast surrounded by his team and his family, but not bad by any means. He chivvied his father and Charlie into his SUV and got them to the Bureau where they wanted to split them up immediately. Don insisted on staying with Charlie and wound up facing Vargas and Fogarty again, this time across a table in an interview room.

"All right, Dr. Eppes," Fogarty said. "We had just reached the point where you tied up both your brother and your father. What happened then?"

Charlie didn't answer right away, and Don looked at him worriedly. "Before we go on, I want an apology for last night," Charlie said. Both Fogarty and Vargas looked nonplussed. Don was astonished. "Well?"

"Dr. Eppes, we need to get on with the investigation," Fogarty said.

Charlie looked at Fogarty. "I know, but your partner's attitude and insinuations that I had done something wrong, or that Don had done something wrong, or even that Don was in on it, were counterproductive and out of line." Charlie turned back towards Vargas. "I want an apology." Don didn't know what to make of this take no prisoners attitude on Charlie's part. Earlier just the thought of talking to Vargas had upset him. Now he was gunning for him with both barrels.

Fogarty spoke again. "Sir, nothing personal was meant by –"

"You know," Charlie said without turning his head, "the fact that you keep answering for him isn't helping the situation any." Fogarty sat back, blinking in surprise at Charlie's tone. "What is it, Vargas? You weren't so quiet last night."

"Agent Vargas." This was said with an icy calm that made Don think Charlie was onto something with this insistence on an apology. There was attitude here that was not acceptable.

It had a sharpening effect on Charlie's mood, as if it needed sharpening. "Oh, I'm sorry, Agent Vargas. I, Dr. Eppes, would like to know what your problem is. Is it me?" Vargas didn't respond, and Charlie leaned forward. "Is it Don?" Vargas' eyes shifted briefly to Don's face and Charlie leapt on it. "Oh, you have a problem with my brother, is that it?"

"Dr. Eppes, we should get on with the interview," Fogarty said.

Charlie shook his head. "I'd like to request that Agent Vargas be reassigned."

"Charlie!" Don hissed, appalled.

"Dr. Eppes, that isn't really a reasonable request," Fogarty said. Vargas didn't speak, but his expression darkened.

"I'm sure if that if I register a formal complaint, it would have the same effect." Charlie stood up. "Is Assistant Director Wright in this morning?"

"Assistant Director Wright is in his office," Fogarty said, "but Dr. Eppes, you can't just –"

Charlie cut him off. "I asked for an apology, and the man has neither given me one nor given me a reason why he won't give me one. You're doing all the talking."

"I was ordered to keep my mouth shut!" Vargas growled.

"Oh!" Charlie smiled. "Okay, that's fine. Can you tell me, is this a problem you'll get over, or is it permanent?" Vargas seemed to be unable to respond, though whether it was his orders or Charlie's manner that was silencing him was anyone's guess.

"Dr. Eppes, please let us do our jobs," Fogarty said.

"Happily, only I don't think Agent Vargas will do his job very well if he's already got a problem with Don. I'd still like to request that he be removed from this case."

"Can't we just try again?"

Charlie walked over to the door. "Which way to the Assistant Director's office?" Both Fogarty and Vargas stared at him without speaking. "Don?"

Feeling very much on the spot, Don didn't respond immediately, but Fogarty saved him the trouble. "Fine. Dr. Eppes, please have a seat. I'll see what I can do to resolve this."

Both Vargas and Fogarty left, and Don turned to Charlie. "What was that all about?"

"You were here, Don," Charlie said irritably. "I asked for an apology and got nothing. I'm not altogether happy with Agent Fogarty, but I had more to point to against Agent Vargas."

"What exactly did he say to you last night?"

Charlie shook his head. "He just implied a lot of stuff, between tone and the way he put things." He shrugged. "That I was just trying to get attention, that you might have planned it for some unguessable reason, that we were both of us too quick to give in to him." Charlie gulped. "I didn't come in here planning to do that, but it was really clear after the first request for an apology that there was something up."

"Why?"

"If you and David were talking to a witness, not a suspect, mind you, who seemed to think he had a reason to want an apology from one of you, you'd give it to him even if you thought he was being irrational." Charlie shook his head. "He didn't even bother to explain why he'd behaved the way he did."

"He was ordered to be silent."

"Even that's weird, don't you think? If he's not supposed to talk, why even have him in here?"

The door opened before Don could respond. "Agent Eppes, Assistant Director Wright would like to see you."

Don gave his brother a grim look and stood up. Presumably now he would get some kind of grilling or dressing down. When he reached Wright's office, the assistant director beckoned him in. "Eppes, I've got a couple of questions for you."

"Yes sir?"

"Did you put your brother up to this?"

Don gaped at him, appalled. "Are you seriously asking me if I told my brother to fake his own kidnapping?"

Wright's eyes widened. "Whoa, wait, what? What's this about faking a kidnapping?"

"Apparently that's what Vargas told Charlie he thinks. That he faked the kidnapping attempt to get more attention. Like he needs or wants more attention."

Wright paused as though to absorb this information. "How would you characterize your brother's behavior last evening?"

"He was completely freaked out. He doesn't handle violence real well, and last night was pretty intense. That guy threatened to kill our father."

"I see. Did Dr. Eppes get angry at Agent Vargas?"

"Actually, yes," Don said. "I don't know what exactly was said, I wasn't there, but both Charlie and David were angry."

"David? Do you mean Agent Sinclair?"

Don nodded. "I wasn't sure how Charlie would take being questioned by two strangers, so David sat in on the interview."

"I see, so you were concerned there might be a certain amount of emotional volatility on your brother's part?"

Now that sounded bad, and Don didn't like the assumption. "Not volatility," he said defensively. "He just . . . he's not a cop, not an agent, he's not trained to cope with violence. Having some guy hold a gun on Dad and then on him just really freaked him out."

"I can understand that," Wright said. "Well, I think I have enough from you. Will Dr. Eppes go forward with the interview if Agent Vargas isn't in the room?"

"That you'll have to ask Charlie," Don said. "Honestly, sir, I would never encourage Charlie to react like this, and I'm actually stunned that he is. He's not remotely an aggressive person, he just . . . doesn't do this kind of thing. Whatever Vargas said last night must really have gotten to him."

Wright nodded. "Very well. Thank you, Agent Eppes. Will you go back and wait with your brother?"

"Sure. Yes sir." Don left, and as he walked through the bullpen, he saw David getting up from his desk and heading towards the assistant director's office. Don went into the interview room where Charlie was waiting. He had appropriated a pad of paper and was doodling equations.

He looked up as Don came in. "So, did I get you in trouble?" he asked in a mildly pathetic voice.

"Naw, it's okay, buddy. He just had a few questions."

"It felt kind of like you got sent to the principal's office," Charlie said with an odd grin. "You know, like that time we got in trouble for fighting."

Don blinked. He hadn't thought of that incident in years, but it was no wonder Charlie was thinking of it. It was the origin of 'banana slug.' "Right. This wasn't like that time."

"Good. I wouldn't want to get you suspended for three days from the FBI. Dad would kill me." The grin fell off his face and his complexion went completely white. "He was going to kill both of you. If I hadn't gone with him –"

"You don't go with people like that, Charlie!"

"Don, if he'd shot you both, I would still not have gotten away, so what good would it have done to make him do it?"

Don really didn't like this conversation. "It would have given you time to get away."

"No, it wouldn't!" Charlie exclaimed, starting to his feet and beginning to pace. "I wouldn't have been able to move. I would have been rooted to the floor. I couldn't do it, Don. I just couldn't possibly do it."

"Well, it didn't happen, so we don't have to think about it."

Charlie stopped, facing him across the table, arms crossed. "Is Vargas getting taken off the case?" he asked.

"I don't know. What the hell did he say to get you so riled up?"

"It doesn't matter," Charlie said.

"It matters, Chuck."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "He said he thought I was doing it to get attention – because I haven't had a case with the FBI in about a month – and I told him it was fine with me, that it gave me time to catch up on my work at CalSci. Then he said that if it wasn't me, maybe it was you. You wanted to be the big hero. When I pointed out that you were hardly the hero of the situation, he laughed and said things got out of hand."

"So, was I supposed to have hired someone who departed from my script? Because I sure as hell wasn't in a position to help anybody." He grimaced, reflecting miserably on his performance the previous evening. "I screwed up. I should never have told you to tie me up."

Charlie stared at him, a silence that grew heavy in the room till Don looked up into his brother's eyes. "So I did do the wrong thing . . ." Charlie said in a dead voice.

"No!" Don exclaimed. "No, you did what you had to do. I mean, God, you did what I told you to do. It just never occurred to me that he would try to take you away."

"What should I have done, Don?" Charlie asked desperately. "I couldn't risk Dad's life, and . . . and . . ."

"It's not what you should have done, Charlie, it's what I should have done. I should have rushed the guy. Hell, I should have made sure the locks on the house were more secure."

"It's my house, Don. It's my responsibility to make sure that the house is secure."

"I'm your big brother, and I'm in the FBI. I know a little more about security than either you or Dad. You are getting new locks. And an alarm system."

"Fine!"

"And you're going to use it! You can't forget to arm the alarm or any of that crap."

"Whatever, fine! We'll make it part of the bedtime routine."

"No, Chuck! It needs to be on whenever you're in the house!"

Charlie's brows went up. "So I have to turn it on and off every time I go out to the garage?"

"The garage is a whole other issue!" Don said, shaking his head. "You are so vulnerable out there. You don't even always have your cell phone with you. I think you're going to have to find somewhere else to do your thinking."

Charlie shook his head. "I am not giving up the garage, Don. I need that space, the openness, the . . . I don't know, the not-in-the-houseness of it."

"Then maybe we need to put an alarm out there, too."

Charlie's pursed his lips stubbornly. "Let me get this straight. In order to go out to the garage, you want me to deactivate an alarm on the house, reset it so I can go outside but leave the alarm on, deactivate the alarm on the garage, go in, reactivate it and then if I need to go back, I have to through the whole process backwards."

"Charlie, I know it would be inconvenient –"

"It would be insane! Besides, people wander in and out of the garage all the time. You, Amita, Dad, Larry . . . even Colby and the others. I don't really want to turn the whole house into a place people have to know codes to get into. It's not worth it!"

"Your life isn't worth it?" Don demanded.

"You're going to catch these people. I know you will!"

"Charlie, I'm not even on the case!" That shut Charlie down. He blinked a lot, and looked very unhappy. Don was compelled to go on. "You know I'd do anything to keep it from happening again."

"Well, I don't want someone who leaps to the conclusion that you and I did it ourselves to be looking into it. Somehow, I don't think he'll be putting his best effort into finding the guys who really did it. And anyone who points a gun at our father needs to be in prison. Yesterday."

Put like that, Don had a hard time disagreeing. "Look, buddy, I'm sure the director will straighten everything out."

"Unless Vargas has managed to convince him that I'm some kind of hysterical idiot."

"He talked to David after he talked to me. David doesn't think you're a hysterical idiot."

Charlie threw himself into a chair. "Is Dad okay?"

"What?" The lightning changes of subject were hard to keep up with. He forced his mind to grasp the thread of the conversation. "Yeah, Dad's fine, I guess. I actually haven't talked to him much, but –"

"Are we getting an interview, or are we just going to be stuck in this room all day? Because I have classes to teach and office hours to hold."

Don took a deep breath. His brother was really not going to like this. "Charlie, I don't think you're going to CalSci today," he said. "Not till we can figure out a way to make it more secure."

"It's a college campus, Don. What do you mean, more secure?"

The door opened, interrupting them. Assistant Director Wright walked in followed by Agent Forgarty. "Good morning, Dr. Eppes. I would like to tender my apology that you found your treatment so unacceptable. I will be keeping a close eye on the progress of this case, and to that end I plan to sit in on this interview." Don glanced at Fogarty who looked anything but thrilled.

"What about Agent Vargas?" Charlie asked.

"Another case has heated up and his skills were urgently needed. In the meantime, I'm detaching Agent Sinclair to assist in this matter."

"I see," Charlie said, looking relieved.

"Now, can we return to what happened last night?"

"Sure," Charlie said. "Yes, certainly."

* * *

Things had gone much more smoothly with the director present, Charlie thought. He didn't understand why Vargas had taken such an immediate dislike to him. Whatever he had against Don must be a really big deal. Agent Fogarty asked Charlie to stay until he'd finished his father's interview, and then they'd discuss security details. Charlie would just as soon skip that conversation. He didn't like the idea of being hemmed in.

Larry showed up while he was waiting and joined him in the empty cubicle he was sitting in. Charlie glanced at his watch. "Did you take both of my classes today?"

"I did," Larry said with a heartfelt sigh. "I find teaching your classes extremely disheartening."

"Really?" Charlie asked. "Why?"

"All those happy, expectant faces just droop when I tell them you're not coming."

"Happy, expectant faces?" Charlie repeated, amused. "Larry, I'm sure you're imagining things."

"I simply compare my classes with yours, Charles. There is an anticipatory energy in your waiting students that I don't find in mine."

Arguing with Larry on this subject would only make things worse. "Well, I don't know when I'm going to be allowed to go back to work," he said. "I get the feeling Don wants to surround me with protectors."

"That sounds like an excellent plan to me, Charles," Larry said.

Charlie blinked at him in surprise. He'd thought Larry would be on his side. "It's going to make things kind of difficult, don't you think? Nervous undergrads with questions having to pass armed, poker-faced FBI goons."

Larry shrugged, tacitly acknowledging the truth of Charlie's argument, but he didn't leave it at that. "They'd have a tougher time getting to you if you let yourself being abducted," he pointed out indefatigably. Charlie couldn't think of any way to refute that, but he had a feeling that Millie wouldn't appreciate the guard detail. Not that it wouldn't enhance the "James Bond" thing, but he doubted that would weigh much with her against guns on campus. Larry suddenly went quite still beside him, and Charlie looked up to see why. Millie was coming out of the elevator, and it was far too late for Dr. Fleinhardt to avoid her. "Is there no escape?" he muttered.

Before Charlie could get up and greet her, he saw Don emerge from his cubicle and speak to her. "Why do you suppose she's here?" Charlie asked Larry.

"You mentioned something about a security detail," Larry said.

Charlie blinked. "And Don wants to make sure she doesn't kick up a stink about it. Damn, I was counting on that."

Don guided her back to where they were sitting, and Charlie rose. "Dr. Finch."

"Millie," she said automatically. "So this is where you come when you leave the hallowed halls of academe. Do you find your students here as attentive as at CalSci?"

Charlie's lips tightened. "Differently – they care less about the how and more about the result."

She nodded. "So, Don, just why have you asked me down here? You said it had to do with Charlie, but you didn't go into much detail."

"Actually, Agent Fogarty asked me to call you," Don said. "And I think he'd prefer it if I let him tell you why."

Charlie stared. He grabbed Don's arm and pulled him away from Millie. "What does Agent Fogarty want with my boss?" he asked urgently.

Don rolled his eyes. "Guess!" Charlie glared at him and he let out a long-suffering sigh. "He wants to make sure that any security we put in place is acceptable to the university."

Charlie glanced over at Millie. "She doesn't know what happened?"

"Not yet. Not unless you told her."

"How could I tell her?" Charlie muttered. "I've been here."

"You have a cell phone," Don pointed out in an undertone.

"Why would I call her?"

"I don't know," Don said, "because she's your boss and she might like to know why you didn't show up for work today?"

"Gentlemen?" Millie trilled. Charlie turned, trying not to let it show that her voice grated on his nerves. He saw Larry being led away by another agent. At least he had escaped the evil of Dr. Finch. "All this bickering is so childish. Don is right. I do want to know why you didn't come in today. And don't you have office hours later on?"

Charlie looked at his watch. "Starting at two," he said. "I don't know if I'm going to be allowed to leave before then."

"Allowed? Are you being held here?" She looked sternly at Don. "What's going on?"

"Let's go into the conference room," Don said, looking around.

Millie took in Don's somber mood and sobered up slightly. She followed them into the conference room, and when the door shut, she said, "All right, gentlemen, what is going on here?"

"Last night someone tried to kidnap Charlie," Don said, and Millie's jaw dropped.

"Is he all right?" She seemed to remember he was in the room and turned to him. "Are you all right? What happened? Are you hurt? I see bruises."

Charlie ducked his head. "I'm fine, really. I just want to get back to work."

"Not today, Chuck," Don said sympathetically. "Agent Fogarty is the agent in charge of the case, and he wants to clear the security detail with you so there are no problems with Charlie going back to work."

"I see," Millie said, nodding. "Of course." She looked around. "I can't believe your father wouldn't be here under the circumstances. Where is he?"

"Being interviewed," Don said. "He was there, we were at dinner and the guy held a gun on Dad to get us to do what he said."

Her eyes widened. "A gun? On Alan? Is he all right?"

Don nodded. "He's not hurt at all."

"Not hurt? That doesn't mean all right."

"No, but he had someone threaten his life last night, threaten one of his son's lives and try to take the other one." Don shrugged. "He's a little shaken."

"Who wouldn't be?" she said. "My God, how did you get away?"

"We were lucky, Megan came by and stopped the guy," Don said. "Anyway, I'm not really part of this, so I'd better go." He nodded towards the bullpen where Charlie could see Fogarty coming this way with David. "I'm going to go make sure Dad's okay."

"Good," Charlie said. "What about me?"

Don turned back with his eyebrows raised. "Don't you want to be part of the conversation about your security detail?"

Charlie grimaced and took a deep breath. The answer to that question was a resounding no, but if he didn't stay, he might get stuck with something totally unlivable. The door slowly closed and Charlie watched Don pause to speak to Fogarty. "I don't want a security detail!" he muttered fervently.

"Excuse me, but are you out of your exceptionally brilliant mind?" Millie exclaimed. "Someone tried to kidnap you last night!"

"I know, I was there," Charlie grated, repressing the irritation that inevitably accompanied his boss into any room.

He might as well have saved his breath for all the attention she paid. "I'd be screaming for bodyguards right now. And with your connections, I'd be screaming to the NSA, the CIA, the FDA, the SCA, the –"

Charlie waved a hand to catch her attention. "The SCA?" he asked when she paused.

She blinked. "Oh, dear." A nervous giggle escaped her. "The Society for Creative Anachronism. I'm a member."

"Oh really?" He shook his head. "And they provide bodyguards?"

She smiled suddenly. "Yes, actually, for the royalty." Charlie stared at her, dumbfounded. "I never had any, I never got any higher than Baroness. Anyway, I didn't mean to say them. All the initials just sort of carried me away."

"Yeah, I'm really not sure what kind of bodyguards the FDA would send, and I've never worked for them."

"Regardless, you have the resources, you should be demanding bodyguards."

"I don't want bodyguards," he said. "I'm not you."

This caused her to pause briefly. "Yes, you're right. You're not always very sensible."

Fortunately for his temper, Fogarty came in at that moment. It was sad to think that Fogarty's arrival improved the situation. Charlie sighed as Fogarty started out the meeting. "I'd like to have a three man team on Dr. Eppes around the clock."

"Three person, surely," Millie interposed.

"Millie!" Charlie hissed.

Fogarty raised an eyebrow at this interchange, but he addressed Millie. "Actually, I would prefer them all to be male, so that they can follow Dr. Eppes wherever he needs to go."

Charlie was briefly struck dumb, but Millie was not. "Oh!" she exclaimed with that little giggle of hers. "I stand corrected. I hadn't considered that aspect."

Charlie found his voice. "They will not be following me everywhere, I refuse."

David looked pained, but Fogarty maintained a calm, determined expression. "Dr. Eppes, public restrooms are notoriously good places for abductions," Fogarty said. "You're very vulnerable in there, and the likelihood of privacy provides an excellent opportunity." Charlie shook his head, utterly at a loss.

"They won't be going into the stall with you, Charlie," David said, as if that somehow helped.

"Can't they wait outside the door?" Charlie demanded, looking plaintively at his friend.

"Many restrooms have second exits that aren't obvious to the casual observer," Fogarty said.

"This is crazy!" Charlie growled. "Somebody else commits a crime, so I get locked up?"

"Unfortunately, that's the way it works," David said.

"What about my father?" Charlie asked abruptly. "Are you putting guards on him? Or my brother?"

"Your father and brother are not primary targets," Fogarty said.

"He was going to kill them," Charlie retorted in as level a voice as he could muster. He saw Millie gulp out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't about to pull any punches for her sake.

"Only as a control against you, Dr. Eppes. It wasn't a goal, it was the means to an end."

"What if they grabbed one of them?" Charlie asked. "Do you honestly think I'd just sit here and wait for you to find them?"

Fogarty grimaced. "You wouldn't have a choice," he said frankly. "If they grabbed one of them, we would lock you up if necessary."

"Lock him up?" Millie burst out. "You actually think that locking up a mathematician would work!"

"Well, I wasn't planning on using a computer code lock," Fogarty said.

Millie stared at him for a second, then laughed. "Oh, that's cute, you actually think that's what I meant." She shook her head. "Are you aware of how many cases this man has solved here? He's very oriented towards problem solving."

"Why are you telling him that?" Charlie demanded in a low voice.

"Because I want you kept safe, too." She leaned towards him. "Charlie, you have to realize, it would kill your father if something happened to you. Or to Don, but Don can take better care of himself."

"Are you here as my boss or as my father's girlfriend?" Charlie exclaimed.

"Both," Millie declared. "Well, 75 boss, 25 pseudo-family member." Charlie gaped at her, completely floored by the gall of the woman.

Fogarty, suffering only the surprise of learning an important fact about one of the players in his case, said, "You're Mr. Eppes' girlfriend?"

"Why yes. You didn't know?" Millie asked, and Charlie put his head down on the table, wishing he could simply vanish from the room. "You're the FBI! Should you know?"

"No, I didn't know," Fogarty said, and he sounded irritated.

"I didn't know, either," David replied defensively. "It must be a fairly recent development."

"Two or three weeks," Charlie said to the table. "Can we get back to the point?"

"This complicates matters," Fogarty said.

"How so?" Millie asked.

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, ma'am, but you're a suspect."

"I am?" she asked, sounding startled.

At the same time, Charlie raised his head and stared at Fogarty. "She is?"

"Well, as your boss, she was on the list automatically," Fogarty said uneasily.

"But with two connections to you, she moves up the list some," David added.

Charlie knew that, but it didn't make the least big of sense. He grimaced. "I can assure you that my disappearance would not benefit Millie in the slightest." He wasn't altogether certain why he was defending her, but he didn't feel like examining the question just now.

"Oh, that's not true," Millie replied with yet another infuriating giggle. "I can think of a half dozen ways your disappearance – and eventual safe retrieval – would benefit the university." Charlie gaped at her, beginning to feel like a half-wit. He couldn't get his mind around anything anyone said today. "Think of the PR angle alone. World famous mathematician nearly kidnapped out of own home, bodyguards on the job."

Charlie stood up. "I have to go to the restroom," he announced. "By myself!"

As he left the room, he heard Millie say, "I shouldn't have said that, I guess."

Don fell in beside him as he went towards the bathroom. "Charlie, you okay, bud?" he asked worriedly.

Charlie sighed deeply. "They're discussing where Millie falls on the suspect list now that they know she's dating Dad."

Don let out a burst of laughter. "Oh shit!" he managed to get out between chuckles. "I hadn't thought of that. How's she taking it?"

"Oh, she doesn't mind. She seems to be delighted by the idea. Said she can think of plenty of ways my disappearance – and eventual safe retrieval – could benefit the university."

"Not to mention her relationship with Dad," Don said, and Charlie seriously considered trying to dunk his head in the toilet. "You disappear, she comforts Dad, you come back and the bonds have been strengthened."

"You're not helping," Charlie growled.

"Sorry, I don't –" Don shook his head, controlling his reaction. "I didn't mean to . . . I don't know."

"Well, Fogarty's going to be pretty annoyed with you," Charlie said.

"Fogarty can bite my butt. Why?"

"Because you didn't tell him Millie is going out with Dad. Apparently that increases her suspect quotient, which makes sense, sort of. Two connections to the victim . . ." Charlie shrugged. "I guess I'm not used to thinking of myself as the victim." They went into the restroom and the conversation ended for the time being. Charlie tried to envision himself with three guys walking around with him all the time, wearing their sober suits and their guns. It just bugged him.

When he came out, he realized that he had utterly failed to go to the restroom by himself. He turned to his brother. "Did you actually have to go, or was that guard duty?" he snapped.

Don raised his hands like he was surrendering. "I had to go. What's this all about?"

Charlie shook his head and rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. "Fogarty wants the guards to follow me to the bathroom," he said. Don was nodding, as if this was to be expected. "Why aren't they putting guards on Dad? Maybe you can protect yourself, but Dad has meetings with total strangers all the time."

Don's brow furrowed. "You have a point, buddy, but . . ." He grimaced. "Look, you'd better go back in before Millie has you sewn up tight on a papoose board. I'll go talk to Dad."

The image was a vivid one and Charlie returned hurriedly to purgatory. Millie was speaking when he opened the door. "– just won't work," she said firmly. "Charlie, you tell them."

He blinked. "Tell them what?" he asked warily.

Fogarty pursed his lips. "We want to disguise your guard detail as students so as not to disturb your routine too much. Dr. Finch seems to think that's a problem."

Charlie considered this notion. "FBI agents, dressed as students, sitting in on my classes?" he asked, and Fogarty nodded. "Following me around campus, hanging out around my office door?" Fogarty was beginning to see where Charlie was going. His eyes crinkled with thought. "I think she's right. It would cause more comment than ordinary guards would."

Millie nodded fervently. "You have to understand, Dr. Eppes' courses are very elite, most of the students are in the same classes together constantly and know each other well. Besides, it's mid-term. No one could possibly join the class halfway through, and the same three people auditing all his classes for half a semester . . ." She shook her head. "I don't think so."

Fogarty sighed. "I see your point. Well, that widens the pool of possible candidates considerably." He shook his head. "It's going to take me a day or two to pull all the people I need from their current duties, so I'm afraid Dr. Eppes is going to have to skip classes until that's done."

"I'm right here," Charlie said, annoyed. Fogarty turned towards him, expression bland. "I can't skip that many classes. We're not talking about courses where you can just write a reading assignment on the board and pass out a sheet of questions to answer. And I have to hold my office hours."

"I'll manage your classes, Charlie," Millie said. "Don't worry about it. A couple of days won't hurt anything."

Fogarty gave him a somber look. "I'm sorry, Dr. Eppes. In the meantime, we have already put surveillance on your house, so I think you can safely return home. I understand your brother also plans to stay for the duration." Part of Charlie wanted to rebel against all this babysitting, but a stronger part of him was glad to know that Don would be staying. He'd feel safer. "Please avoid going out for any reason for the time being. I will be coming by later for a more detailed security evaluation of your house, but to start with, I'd recommend changing your locks to something more secure, and possibly adding an alarm system." He stood up and the rest of them followed suit.

"Don's already working on it," Charlie said. "And David's been there dozens of times. I'm sure he knows the house well enough for –"

"I wasn't looking at it from a security standpoint, Charlie," David said apologetically. "And Don still thinks of it as his childhood home. We need to have fresh eyes evaluate it."

"Okay, fine," Charlie said, eager to be out of the meeting. He turned and opened the conference room door.

Fogarty followed him out. "Good. Then I think that's all. If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call. We'll be in touch about the bodyguards."

Charlie's lips tightened. "Thrilling."

Fogarty nodded and walked away. Don slipped into the conference room as as Fogarty left. Charlie turned to Millie. "So, I guess I won't be at CalSci for a couple of days. You're not going to have a problem with that?" As he spoke, Don walked up.

Millie gave Charlie an exasperated look. "Charlie, when I told you I didn't want you cancelling classes or missing office hours, I meant I didn't want you running off to . . . play when you should be working."

"You think what he does here is play?" Don demanded, and he actually sounded angry.

Mille raised her eyebrows. "No, but . . . I just meant that as a CalSci professor, his first responsibility is to the college, and it had been intimated to me that he had been remiss in his duty as a professor in the search of 'worldly' glory."

Don looked outraged. "By who?"

"Whom, Donald," Larry said, walking up. "By whom. Anyone who is jealous of Charles's gifts, his popularity, his opportunities. Sniping of that sort is not uncommon in academic circles." His look at Millie seemed somewhat pointed, and Charlie realized that both Larry and Don were trying to defend him from Millie's barbs – which for once seemed to be largely absent.

"Regardless," Millie said, "I certainly would not penalize you for remaining in what amounts to protective custody."

"Well, that's great," Charlie said, reflecting that he might have been able to persuade Don to be less pushy if he'd been able to say it was threatening his job.

Millie bustled off to go check on Charlie's father, and Charlie watched her go. When she turned a corner, they headed back towards the little cluster of cubicles Don's team used. "Is that relationship as disturbing to you as it is to me?" he asked Don.

"I don't know," Don said thoughtfully. Then he grinned. "But she's not my boss."

"Laugh it up," Charlie muttered, dumping his laptop case down beside Megan's desk. He scowled at the world. "What am I supposed to do? Go home and watch Oprah?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Don could understand Charlie's frustration, but he was getting a little irritated. They couldn't help that common sense dictated things that Charlie didn't want to put up with. He scratched his head and looked away, trying to come up with something to say. A file moved into his view, pushed along the surface of the desk. He glanced up and saw Megan's eyes. She gave a little nod towards Charlie.

He picked up the file and glanced at it. The embezzlement? It was nothing that required a mathematician of Charlie's caliber, but he got Megan's message abruptly. It was something to do. If only Charlie wouldn't view it as make-work.

"Hey, Charlie, we've got something that you could take a look at if you would," he said. Charlie gave him a suitably dubious look, and Don shook his head. "No, it's not something I'd ordinarily give you, or you'd already know about it, but it's been pushed to the back burner by that Sedalia Solutions mess. That's taking most of our available forensics accountants to work out."

"Really?" Charlie said. He took the file and wandered off to a desk, flipping through.

Don turned to Megan. "Thank you," he said quietly. She just shrugged and turned back to her work. He sighed and sat down at his own desk. Paperwork was the bane of his existence, but there were reports to write, others to read. After an hour or so, Charlie came up to him. "I assume there's a copy of the data from this company on a computer here somewhere."

"Yeah, sure, hey, Colby, can you get Charlie access to the Borgos Ltd. data?"

After that, Don didn't see Charlie for several hours, not until just after lunch when he walked into their section of cubicles with his laptop under his arm and a great big grin on his face. "I've got it," he said.

"Charlie, you haven't been at it for more than four hours," Don said. "What do you mean, you've got it?"

Charlie shrugged. "All right, the problem posed here is a number of invoices that were paid to a company that doesn't exist for merchandise that was never received."

"Right."

"Ordinarily, we'd trace the money and find the perpetrator of the fraud, but here the money trail vanishes in a series of overseas transfers. No one has left the company, no one appears to be living above their income. Further, the names on the transaction records clearly indicate three specific employees, one of whom was actually on an airplane at the time some of the transactions she supposedly created took place."

Don nodded. They knew all of that.

"Okay, to start off with, we know that Borgos has no IT professional on staff, and no one who admits to knowing anything about the nuts and bolts of databases, and the manufacturer of their software is out of business so they couldn't consult them to find out what had happened."

"Right, Charlie, we know this stuff. What do you have that's new?"

Charlie put his laptop down on Megan's desk and the team gathered around. He pulled up a screen from the Borgos accounting software, one whose header read Order Entry. "In a relational database, data is stored in many places in many different ways," Charlie said. "Multiple tables combine to make a single screen of information in, say, order entry." He moused over the screen, indicating the order number, the order date, and the terms of payment. "This information would be located in a header table, while all the order items and quantities would be in a line table."

"Charlie . . ." Colby said plaintively, and Don could appreciate his dismay.

"No, I know. I wasn't going to get any more in depth than that. Suffice it to say that there are a multitude of tables that combine to provide the information on this interface screen."

"Okay," Don said. "So?"

"So, each one of those tables has identifying markers, designed to trace who did what to which record and when. Our perpetrator knew enough to penetrate to those tables and change the information that's reported on the screen with regard to who changed what when."

"Wait, there's a way in to affect the tables directly?" Colby asked. "Not using the interface thing?"

Charlie nodded. "There is. This is an SQL database," he said. "If you have access to SQL and the server the data is stored on, you can have at. Unfortunately, it looks like whoever configured this system gave too many permissions to standard users, giving them access to data that they should never have had. Since most of the users didn't know it, and wouldn't have known how to use it if they had, it might not have been a big deal. Evidently, however, there is one person there who knows more about back end databases than she's letting on."

"She?" Don asked. "Do you know who it is?"

"I think so. Let me walk you through this and you can tell me if it leads you to the same place."

"I'd have to understand it for it to lead me anywhere," David said, sitting back.

Charlie sighed. "Okay, imagine a room. You've got the walls, and you've got trim along the baseboard and on the window frames. The walls are white, the trim is pink. Now, the walls are like the order, the trim is the detail stuff the system stores to identify who, what and where."

"I'm following you, I think," David said. Colby was listening with round eyes, concentrating.

"Good. You want to give the room an update, but you don't want to paint everything, just the trim. Our perpetrator didn't want to change the overall order, just those details that pointed to her."

"That makes sense," Megan said, nodding slowly.

"So, you decide to paint the trim green, but there's a great big wardrobe in the way. It weighs a ton, and you don't feel like moving it, so you paint as much as you can see, and merrily go on your way, leaving most of the trim behind the wardrobe pink. To anyone who looks casually at the room, the trim is all the same color. All the detail data on the order is the same. It's only if someone moves the wardrobe that the truth is revealed."

"That you're a lazy slob," Colby said, and Charlie rolled his eyes in amusement. He looked around, waiting for someone to respond more helpfully. Don hated this Socratic method he always used. It might be good for the classroom, but in the office it drove him nuts.

"So what you're saying is that she didn't move the wardrobe?" David asked hesitantly.

"Exactly. In fact, she probably didn't even see the trim behind the wardrobe. She just changed all the details she could see and figured that's all there were."

"And there are others?"

Charlie nodded. "There are subtables underneath the order line table, and there is an entire audit trail she missed completely. It's the audit trail that will get her, I think."

"What's an audit trail?"

"Every time any data is added to or altered in any table in the database, a copy of the old data versus the new data is added to the audit trail so you can trace back what things used to be before you changed them, and you can look to see who made specific changes."

"And the audit trail?"

"Points straight to Jenny Garza. It's consistent across the board. The audit trails for all the suspect transactions show Jenny Garza's name, and the times match times when she was logged in. She altered the times of the transactions to eliminate herself, but she missed the audit trail, and she didn't look to see if the times she changed them to were consistent with surrounding data."

"What do you mean?"

"The database automatically assigns the order and invoice numbers, and they do it sequentially. She changed some of the order time stamps to times after ones they should have been before." He shrugged. "She was clumsy and careless. You really didn't need me for this. You just needed a halfway decent database expert. They probably would have gotten to the answer faster, even."

"Not one of ours," Don said. "They wouldn't have even started working on it till next week at the earliest. Colby, David, go pick up this Jenny Garza for questioning and look into her financials."

Colby and David left, Megan turned back to her desk, and Charlie turned to Don. "You got anything else for me? Because if you don't, I do have some tests I could grade. Larry brought them for me from my office."

"Hey, no, we're good," Don said, grinning.

The next day, Charlie spent a good bit of the morning with Fogarty, going through a day in the life of Charlie Eppes. Don saw him off and on all day after that, talking with other teams and helping in other cases. At one point Charlie had LeAnn Slater's team gathered in the conference room as he went through one of his famous diagrams with them, writing equations on the whiteboard and explaining in his usual energetic style.

Don was turning back to his own work when he saw Vargas watching the show from across the room. His expression was anything but friendly. Don considered going and confronting him about his attitude, but just then Megan caught his attention about a break in a case. When he looked up again, Vargas was gone, and LeAnn Slater was pointing at Charlie's diagram and giving instructions while Charlie stood by as he had so often in Don's briefings, arms folded, looking satisfied.

As he was reviewing an evidence report, an e-mail alert came up and he automatically noted who the sender was as he closed the alert. Fogarty? He flipped programs to check what Agent Fogarty had to say.

It was a list of names with one question at the bottom. "What do you think?" He glanced up and read the subject line. "Charlie's Detail." Don read the list of names with more attention, made a couple of alternate suggestions for people he thought might be better able to cope with Charlie's style, and sent it back. He was pleasantly surprised. He hadn't expected to be consulted.

There had been no trouble the previous night, and, with Charlie in the FBI offices all day both days, no trouble during the day either. It made Don nervous. Another attack had to be coming.

Quitting time came, and with nothing pressing, Don shut down his desk and grabbed his jacket. He turned to find Charlie approaching with three guys trailing him, Agents Miller, Tam and Perez. They were still a ways off, but when Charlie stopped and spoke, Don could hear him clearly. "Let's be clear, we are not going to walk around my life looking like an adventure party in a role-playing video game."

Don walked over. "It's kind of hard to do anything else in a cube farm, Charlie," he said, and Charlie rolled his eyes. "So, you guys driving him home, or following me?"

Charlie gave him a tight-lipped grin. "I have been instructed not to accept rides from strangers, friends or acquaintances. Family was not mentioned."

Perez cleared his throat. "Sir, I'm sure that Agent Fogarty would prefer you ride with us."

Don nodded. "Probably, and he's right. You need to be where your guards are. If they missed a light and we got into trouble, it wouldn't be good for them or us."

Charlie looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath, clearly taking command of himself. "Fine. Okay." He turned to Perez. "But my name is Charlie, not sir."

"Yes sir," Perez said, and Don detected a twinkle in his eye. He turned away to hide his grin.

"I'll see you at home, Charlie," he said.

"See ya," Charlie said irritably.

The trip home was uneventful for both parties, and Don could see them behind him for most of the drive. Charlie wasn't in the front seat, but Don had expected that. No doubt he'd hear about it from Charlie later, though. He couldn't blame his brother for being frustrated, but it would be crazy to take unnecessary risks.

They were right behind him when they reached the neighborhood, so Don got out of his car and waited for Charlie. "Think Dad will have dinner waiting for us?" he asked.

"Not unless you called him," Charlie said as they headed up the front walk. The guards dispersed quietly. Tam split off and headed around to circle the outside of the house and presumably check out the garage. As they entered the house, Perez went upstairs immediately. Miller walked without hurry through the all the rooms on the ground floor.

Charlie watched them move around, then walked into the kitchen. Don was disarming at the hall table when he saw Charlie back immediately out through the swinging door. His mouth went dry until the door swung shut again. Charlie turned towards Don, apparently unaware of the parallel he'd just performed. "I think dinner will be ready soon," he said, his expression a little tense.

Once his adrenaline calmed down a bit, Don suspected he knew what the problem was. His guess was confirmed a moment later when their father came out of the kitchen followed by Millie, who was holding a glass of red wine.

"Charlie, is something the matter?" their father asked.

Don could see that Charlie was uncomfortable with the question, and it was easy to see why. Don wondered if he should talk to his father about the situation, but, on the whole, he thought it would only make things worse.

* * *

"No, I just . . ." Charlie paused, desperately trying to come up with something he could say to assuage the worry in his dad's eyes without offending both or either of them. "I just didn't want to interrupt anything," he said finally.

"Oh no," his dad said. "You're fine."

"Your father was just cooking," Mille said, and Charlie wished fervently that she would develop a sudden, instantaneous case of laryngitis. "I was watching, and drinking wine." She gestured with the wineglass, as if he needed the visual aid. At that moment, Agent Miller finished his tour of the ground floor and stationed himself beside the front door. "Oh, hello!" Millie exclaimed with a nervous giggle. Her greeting was automatic, but Miller barely acknowledged it before speaking very quietly into the miniature microphone of his radio. Millie's eyes widened. "Does this mean you're back on campus tomorrow?" she asked.

"So long as I let my three new friends follow me wherever they want to, yes," Charlie said sourly. He glanced over at Miller who remained poker-faced, as advertised. "It won't be these guys, they're on evening duty."

"Of course," Millie said, and then an uneasy silence fell. At least three of them were reacting with discomfort to the fact that there was a fifth person present who was not – and should not be – part of the conversation. Fogarty had emphasized that his bodyguards were not supposed to be friends and that they were not hanging out together. Nevertheless, it felt very wrong to ignore him.

Don cleared his throat. "So what's for dinner?"

"Tuna casserole," his father said. "With peas and carrots."

"Sounds good." They went into the kitchen, and Miller quietly followed them. Charlie began to wonder if one them was going to stay in his room while he slept. He wasn't sure he could sleep with a stranger watching him.

Charlie pitched in getting dinner on the table and they ate like a family. The whole concept was vaguely disturbing. He wanted his father to have a relationship, he did, but why did it have to be Millie? Why a woman whose voice set his teeth on edge? But it was clear that Dad liked her, so Charlie was just going to have to suck it up.

There was a game on after dinner, and Millie stayed till it was over. Charlie watched for awhile, absently calculating trajectories and impacts, but he got an idea for one of the cases he'd seen at Don's office. He had the urgent desire to go out to the garage, but he knew Miller and the others would object, and he didn't want to get into a big fuss tonight.

Instead, he pled tiredness and went upstairs to work on it in peace. It wasn't satisfactory, though. He'd always preferred the broader scope a blackboard gave him. Paper was flimsy and quiet, and to write large enough to be seen across the room required more paper than was practical. The garage was a perfect working space, and he was banned from it. Especially after dark, Fogarty had said. Too many shadows, too much cover . . .

He summarized his conclusions, tucked the summary and the equations into a folder, and took it all downstairs. Don was sitting up alone, watching a late show. Perez now stood watch at the door, and he'd passed Tam in the upstairs hall. "Don, would you give this to Agent Perkins?" he asked.

Don took the file with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you were going to bed."

Charlie shrugged, a little embarrassed. "I wanted to go out to the garage, but I couldn't. I just . . . I figured it was an easier explanation."

His brother raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't want Millie horning in."

Don could so often see right through him. "No, I didn't," he said ruefully. "Am I that transparent? And if so, why hasn't Dad picked up on it?"

"I think . . ." Don shook his head. "I think he's hoping it will pass. I also think he doesn't know how frustrating you're finding her at work."

"Well, I can hardly tell him, can I?" Charlie said, sinking into the chair next to Don's. "Not without looking like I'm trying to screw things up for him." He sighed. "It's not the end of the world."

"No, it's not," Don said. "Well, I should probably hit the sack. Early day tomorrow."

Charlie grinned up at him. "My first class is at ten." Don gave him a playful whack on the back of the head and headed upstairs. "Don't forget to give that file to Agent Perkins!" Charlie called quietly.

Don gave him a thumbs up and kept going. Charlie sat for a few more minutes watching Jay Leno babble, then turned off the TV and went upstairs himself.

* * *

Arriving on campus in a black sedan with tinted windows made Charlie self conscious and irritable, especially when they didn't head to the parking lot. The driver, Agent Corelli, pulled through some clearly posted no driving zones and drove straight up to Charlie's office building. "What now?" Charlie asked. "You can't park here."

"Now we get out," Agent Leider said, "and Corelli parks the car."

Charlie got out with Leider and Shafer, his morning guards, feeling immensely conspicuous. This feeling was not lessened by the stares he got from students and faculty alike. He wondered if Millie had actually told anyone, or if she had simply kept the information to herself.

One of his students hurried up, and Charlie sensed tension from Leider. He hoped the agent wouldn't overreact. "Dr. Eppes!" Michael Zimmer exclaimed. "Have you been sick? Are you better? I have questions about my thesis. I came to your office, but you weren't there."

Charlie put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "I'm fine. Come to my office between three and four and we'll go over your questions."

"Are you sure you can't talk to me now? It's been two days, and I –"

"Three o'clock, Michael," Charlie said. "I've got a class now."

Michael reluctantly allowed himself to be persuaded, and Charlie kept going towards his office. Michael Zimmer tended to be somewhat oblivious to social cues – or, in fact, anything other than his work – so his willingness to approach under the circumstances wasn't a good indicator. Charlie noticed several of his other students hanging back and grimaced. He headed up to his office and grabbed his class notes and started to leave again.

"Dr. Eppes, we should wait for Corelli."

"I have a class in ten minutes, and it's halfway across campus. You have radios, tell him how to get there." He hurried out of his office and down the stairs. They followed him, and he could hear Shafer muttering into his radio. Charlie couldn't help thinking he must look ludicrous, this casually dressed math professor, walking swiftly across the quad followed closely by two men in sober black suits.

His class was held in a room on the second floor, so he jogged up the stairs and arrived in plenty of time for his guards to decide how to position themselves. He turned to them as he reached the door to the classroom. "All I ask is that you don't distract from the lecture in any way that's avoidable."

"We'll do our best," Leider said. "Is there any other exit to this room?"

Charlie opened the door. There were three students already gathered. "Look to your heart's content," he said, gesturing around the room. "You've got five minutes to situate yourselves and become invisible." He went up to the podium and got his notes in order. Corelli arrived a moment later and they had a quick conference that resulted in Leider posted just inside the classroom door and the other two leaving. Since he knew they weren't really leaving, he assumed they were doing some form of patrolling. Four more students came in nervously.

Karen Huang looked uneasily at Leider and walked up to Charlie. "Is something wrong, Dr. Eppes?"

"The FBI's just being careful," Charlie said. Her eyes widened and she blinked at him. "Go ahead and have a seat."

Everyone came in, they all looked a bit weirded out by the FBI presence in their classroom. He thought a couple of the jokers were a little quieter than usual, and there were fewer questions than he was used to. He tried to just behave as if there was nothing different.

After class the inevitable stragglers came up, each jockeying to be last so that they didn't have to ask their question in front of anyone else. Charlie gathered up his notes, answered the questions, told them he was resuming normal hours and went back to his office.

Amita showed up a few minutes after he did, and she'd anticipated something he hadn't. He had a profound reluctance to take his bodyguards to the university food court, so until Amita showed up bearing salad and sandwiches, lunch looked like a lost cause. She came in, put the bag of food down on his desk and gave him a kiss, which kind of surprised him since she was usually less open with her affections on campus after the time Millie had walked in on them.

He smiled as she drew back. "Lunch delivered with a kiss. I could get used to that."

One of Amita's dark brows quirked in a sardonic expression. "Well, don't," she said, grinning. "This is a special occasion."

"And I appreciate it," he said.

"Sir?" It was Corelli, who was stationed outside the door. Charlie sighed and looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. "Do you want the door closed?"

Charlie shook his head. "I usually keep it open. It's more inviting."

"Yes sir, and less secure."

Charlie grimaced. "It's also how my students know I'm available."

It was Corelli's turn to sigh. "Yes sir." He withdrew his head and Charlie turned back to Amita.

"I can't get them to call me Charlie," he said.

"It's probably some kind of protocol," she suggested. "Maybe they're not allowed to use your first name."

Charlie shrugged. They settled down to eat, talking about math and campus politics. It was hard to have a relaxed conversation knowing that Corelli was standing outside the door. He probably wasn't listening, but his presence had a dampening effect, on Charlie at any rate. He had a class at twelve forty-five, so he gave her a quick kiss good-bye at half past. "You want to come by tonight?" he asked.

Her face fell. "I'm sorry, I can't. What about tomorrow night? I can come around eight."

"Perfect."

She started to go, then paused and turned back. "And I'll bring you lunch again tomorrow, if you want." He nodded with a surprised grin. "Chinese?"

"Sure."

Once again, he found himself tromping across campus with two shadows. He gathered that the third had gone ahead this time to scout the terrain. More stares and raised eyebrows came his way as he led his miniature parade, but he ignored them. The kidnap attempt had not been in the news, and Fogarty had asked him not to talk about it too much.

His morning class had been graduate students, most of whom knew Charlie pretty well. The afternoon class was advanced undergrads. It was larger, and correspondingly was held in an auditorium-style lecture hall with three doors and small vestibule. This sent the three amigos into something of a tizzy till they settled on one man in the vestibule, one man near the front of the classroom, and one man patrolling outside.

Charlie waited until everyone had settled into place, both students and guards, then he cleared his throat and the murmurs died away. "I'm sure all of you have noticed that we have an unusual presence among us today." He glanced over at the dark-suited man. The students had been looking covertly at him, now they looked openly. "This is Agent Shafer of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He has two friends who are wandering around outside, and they will be around at my office later on, too. Most of you already know of my work with the FBI, and this is related to a case. Just ignore them and they'll ignore you."

Questions erupted from the students, but only two were loud enough to be intelligible. "Have there been threats against your life, Professor Eppes?" "Is someone stalking you?"

He raised his voice a little to be heard over the babble. "We're here to study complex variables, and from the looks of your midterms, I think we'd better buckle down."

There was a brief silence, then one of the boys in the back spoke up. "Harsh, Dr. E.," Philip Thompson said with a broad grin. He was the jokester of this class, bright but not a hard worker. Charlie just raised an eyebrow, and Philip shrugged unrepentantly, grin still in place. "Harsh but not unjustified, at least in my case." There was a smattering of laughter and they got down to work.

When a large crowd of students gathered around him after class, Agent Shafer stepped forward. Before he could say anything really alarming, Charlie said, "Any and all questions, find me at my office hours." Packing up quickly, he cut through the throng and got to Shafer's side. One they were in the hall and out of the immediate hearing of his students, Charlie spoke in an undertone. "They just had questions."

"I know," Shafer said. With a little twinkle in his eye, he added, "I recognize the swarm behavior from my own college days. But none of us is going to be happy with you in a crowd right now."

"A crowd?" Corelli asked, joining them.

"After class," Shafer said, and Corelli nodded. "Where to now, Dr. E.?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but he didn't mind. It beat being sirred to death. "Office hours, two till four, then my own research till whenever I finish."

"Whenever?" Corelli asked.

"Well, you're not wanting me to work in the garage at home," Charlie said with a shrug. "That leaves here."

"The shift changes at six," Corelli said to Shafer.

"There's no chance I'll be leaving before then," Charlie said, angling towards one of the snack bars. "So you'd better call them and tell them to come here." He picked up a sandwich and a bag of chips for later and headed on to his office. He'd barely arrived before the first student showed up. As he'd anticipated, some of them were intimidated by the presence of a stern-faced guard at the door, but once a few had braved the gauntlet, others were emboldened to come in. Michael showed up at three o'clock on the dot, and they worked together for the next two hours. Fortunately, Michael didn't need intense sessions like that very often. He had a brilliant mind, if narrowly focused.

Awhile after Michael left, the evening team of guards showed up. Miller met with Leider while the other two went and found their counterparts. He was aware of the discussion as the torch was passed, but paid it little heed. He just kept working till energy and inspiration failed him. Glancing up at the clock, he saw that it was nearly eleven.

Letting out a sigh, he stepped back and looked at the work he'd done. He stretched his neck and shoulder, sore from six hours of nearly continuous scribbling. Running his fingers through his hair, he sat down and looked at tomorrow's schedule. He put his notes together for the lecture at twelve fifty and contemplated the insanity that had led him to set his office hours for Tuesday and Thursday at nine a.m. to eleven a.m.

He rose, packed his laptop into its case and then realized that he didn't know the procedure. He walked to the door and opened it. They had insisted on closing it after dark, and he hadn't objected. "Um . . . Agent Miller?"

"Yes, Dr. E.?" Miller replied, looking at him. He seemed to take in the bag and the tired expression. "Ready to go?" Charlie nodded. "All right, go ahead and have a seat. I'll have Perez go get the car. He'll let us know when it's ready, and we'll go out then."

"Why don't we all go down together?" Charlie asked as Miller gave the orders over his radio.

"Parking lots are extremely dangerous, sir."

"At this hour there are probably five cars total in the entire lot," Charlie pointed out.

"That doesn't change the fact. An empty parking lot has different dangers from a full one, but it's still not safe."

Charlie sighed and went back to sit down. He supposed that he needed the guards, but he was having trouble accepting it. He just didn't feel like the kind of person who needed bodyguards.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I would like to apologize for my oversight in the last chapter. I have corrected the two notes to actual story text. I guess I was in too much of a hurry to post. In my original writing, I had left another area of that chapter incomplete, specifically the database explanation Charlie gives about the embezzlement, and I was so relieved to have finished that section that I didn't check the rest of it for _finish later_ references. Sorry, Eidz

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Don had called Miller's cell twice since eight, and he was waiting impatiently for Charlie to get home. "Is this how it felt when we were kids and we were out late?" Don asked.

His father looked up from the book he was reading. "A little," he said thoughtfully. "Then it was unspecified dangers that lurked to snatch you. This is a little more immediate, but Charlie's got three agents with him. He should be safe, right?"

Don looked into his father's eyes and saw the anxiety that coiled there, waiting to explode. "Sure, Dad, he'll be fine. I just . . ." He shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Your brother does this when he's sent you off to do something dangerous with his calculations," his dad said, looking back down at his book.

"He does not," Don protested.

His dad looked up. "He does. Every time since that time when you got shot."

Don shook his head, startled. "I didn't know."

"He wouldn't be likely to tell you, now would he?" his dad said.

"No, I guess not," Don said.

The phone rang, and Don went to get it. "Hello?"

There was no answer, just silence, then a click and the line went dead. Footsteps on the porch made Don turn. The door opened and Charlie came in. He put the phone down, noting the time almost automatically. "Late night?"

"I needed the boards," Charlie said enigmatically, but Don understood.

"Did you get any work done?"

Charlie nodded, looking vague the way he did after a particularly long session of mathematics. "I think I made some progress. I'll have to look it over again to make sure. Inspiration can be misleading."

"No trouble?" Don asked the guards.

"Not a sign," Miller said.

"Good."

Their father walked up. "Did you eat?" he demanded of Charlie.

"Uh . . ." Charlie narrowed his eyes with thought. "Yeah, I got a sandwich."

"Which he didn't eat," Miller said.

Charlie's eyes widened, and he turned on the agent. "Are you a bodyguard or a babysitter?"

Miller got very poker-faced. "Sorry, sir."

"You didn't eat?" their father exclaimed. "Charlie!" He shook his head. "Sit down, sit down. I'll heat you up some of the pasta we had for dinner."

"Dad, don't go to any trouble," Charlie protested. "I'm good." He might as well have kept his peace for all the attention their father paid. He was already in the kitchen before Charlie finished his sentence. "Did I speak?" Charlie asked, looking over at Don.

"You know Dad," Don said. "Honestly, Charlie, you've got to eat."

Charlie paused and looked over at Miller. "Did I at least put it in the fridge?"

"No sir."

Charlie sighed and Don snorted. "You just need to wake up every once in awhile when you're working."

Charlie turned wide, appalled eyes on him. "Are you nuts?" he demanded. "That's loss of focus, and it's incredibly hard to get it back." He gave Don a narrow eyed glare. "You don't always eat when you're working hard."

"Is that so?" Unbeknownst to Don, their father had entered the room. "I'll have to keep an eye you, too, Donnie."

Don turned an outraged glare on his brother, who grimaced and mouthed an apology. They both moved over to the dining table, and Charlie sat at the place their father had set for him. "Honestly, Dad, I'm not this hungry."

"Eat."

Charlie began to eat, and Don sat back, watching. It was good to have Charlie home again where he could see him. The anxiety that had wracked his gut was quiet again. He sat back, content to be quiet. Charlie ate as much as he could, and then, when their father wasn't looking, he got up and slid into the kitchen to dump the rest of the plate. Don kept his laugh to himself, but it was a familiar move ever since Dad had gotten to be such a mother hen over Charlie. When he emerged from the kitchen, he was yawning. "I'm going to bed."

"Good. Don, you should go, too." Don looked up in surprise. "You have an early start in the morning. You should go to bed."

"Yes sir," Don said, and he followed his brother up the stairs. "Thanks, Charlie," he muttered. "Now he's going to start watching me like a hawk."

"Sorry, Don," Charlie said contritely. "That really wasn't my intention."

"Well, good night, Chuck."

Don stood at the front of a peculiar assembly. His colleagues brushed shoulders with Charlie's, all looking solemn. His father sat in the front row with an arm around a weeping Amita. Someone was missing. Where was Charlie? Who had died?

Don looked down at the words on the paper in front of him. It was his handwriting, jotted notes like he made when he had to give some kind of speech. "We all knew Charlie Eppes in different ways," he heard himself say. The speech went on, and Don forced himself to look over at the open coffin where Charlie lay so still – so unbelievably still.

Don sat upright in bed, staring in confusion at the dark windows across from the foot of his bed. He was breathing hard and his skin was clammy. That was not a good –

"Don!" The door slammed open and Charlie ran in. "Are you okay?"

"Charlie?" Don exclaimed, staring at his brother. "What are you doing in here?"

"You yelled," Charlie said. "What happened?"

"I yelled and you came running _into_ my room?" Don asked, appalled.

"Of course, I did. Are you okay?"

"Charlie! You have guards for a reason! If you hear yelling, you go the other way."

"You're my brother!"

Perez stuck his head in, followed by their dad. "What's going on in here?" Alan asked.

Don let out an explosive sigh. "I had a bad dream, and apparently I yelled," Don said. "And this nitwit came running in here instead of staying in his room like a sensible person."

"What's sensible about staying in his room?" his dad asked.

Don closed his eyes and counted to ten. "What if the kidnappers were in here?" he asked.

"I should leave you alone with them?" Charlie demanded.

"Yes!"

"Don, I'm not going for the sacrifice thing!" Charlie growled. "I will not abandon you to some wacko to save myself!"

Don was ready to throw things, and apparently their father saw the mood he was in, because he took Charlie by the arm. "Don's okay, Charlie. Let's get you back to bed."

"But –" Charlie didn't fight it, but his eyes promised future conversations on the same topic.

Don found that he had clenched his fists and forced himself to relax. He looked up at Perez. "Do not let him –"

"No sir!" Perez snapped, and he returned to his post by Charlie's door.

Don got up and went downstairs. His heart was beating a mile a minute, he felt like he needed a shower, and now he was furious. All through his childhood people had impressed upon him just how important Charlie was. How had Charlie missed the memo?

He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk, trying to calm down. How was he going to convince Charlie to protect himself?

Within a few minutes, his dad came into the kitchen. "I thought I'd find you in here. What was that all about? Why'd you yell?"

Don shook his head. "Bad dream, I told you. But Charlie, man, he needs to understand that he can't put himself in danger like that."

"He's your brother, Don. If you would run to him in the same situation, how can you be surprised that he'd run to you?"

"I'm not surprised!" Don exclaimed. "I'm just – I don't know – frustrated. He's the one under threat, so he needs to stay away from . . . if one of those guys had come in and grabbed me and made me yell, he would have had Charlie right there, and someone would have died trying to keep him from being taken."

"And if the positions were reversed, and you were the one under threat of abduction and Charlie was your hostage, wouldn't you do the same thing?"

Don grimaced. "No one would ever want to grab me," he said.

"That's beside the point," his father said.

"Then why even bring it up?" Don asked irritably. Overcome with emotion, he slammed his fist down on the table. "I hate this!"

"Your Agent Fogarty will solve it, they'll get put behind bars and everything will be fine."

Don nodded. He didn't mention that it could take months and might involve Charlie being in danger more than once before it was solved. "I . . . I dreamed that I was speaking at Charlie's funeral." Don hadn't intended to say anything, but the words just came out.

His father stared at him. "No wonder you yelled." He shook his head. "Dreams like that just reflect your anxieties. Charlie will be fine."

"I know that, Dad, it's just, to dream that and then have Charlie come in, courting danger."

"He wasn't courting danger, Donnie, he was worried."

Don sighed. "I'd better get back to bed. I think my heart rate has almost gotten back to normal."

"Good. Good night, Donnie."

"Night, Dad."

* * *

Thursday passed much as Wednesday had up until lunch. When Amita came in with their food, she didn't kiss him. Instead she paced, looking infuriated. "You would not believe what Dr. Taufetee said!"

"I wouldn't?" Charlie asked.

"She is . . . I don't . . ." Amita let out a growl. "And there Professor Sanderson stood, agreeing with her like a nitwit."

"What did she say?"

"That you were puffing yourself up with bodyguards and making a sensation out of nothing."

Charlie blinked. "Does that surprise you?" he asked.

"No!" Amita stopped pacing and stared at him. "But she said it with me standing right there, and because you told me I shouldn't say anything, I didn't."

"Good."

"Charlie, she's making up stupid stories about you. Doesn't that piss you off?"

"A little, but what good does that do me?" He shook his head. "I know she doesn't like me, and Sanderson doesn't like to stand up to people."

"It just made me really mad, and there was nothing I could do about it."

"Well, thank you for wanting to do something about it," Charlie said. He walked up and put his arms around her. "But it's okay. You know it's not true, I know it's not true, and Millie knows it's not true."

"And that's important?" Amita asked.

"It is if he doesn't want me to bug him about missing classes," Millie said from the doorway. Amita and Charlie broke apart. "Oh, don't mind me."

"The moment is gone," Charlie said with a grimace. "What can I do for you, Millie?"

"I just wanted to see how everything is going." She paused expectantly, but when neither of them answered, she pursed her lips, looking impatient. "How _is _everything going?"

"Fine," Charlie said.

"It's not," Amita said. "People are making up stories about how Charlie's just showing off."

"That's not a big deal, Amita," Charlie replied. "It happens all the time in this kind of community."

"Well, I'm absolutely the last person on campus who could quash it," Millie said.

"Why not?" Amita demanded.

"Because I'm dating his father," she said as if talking to a nine-year-old. "People will tend to assume that I favor Charlie in all things."

"They'd be wrong," Charlie exclaimed.

"Of course, but that won't stop them from assuming it."

"You have a point," Charlie muttered. "Is there anything else I can help you with? We were about to eat lunch."

"No," she said. As she left the room, she trilled, "I'll see you later at the house. Your father's fixing tandoori."

Charlie sighed. "I find it disturbing that she knows what I'm having for dinner before I do."

Amita shook her head and went to liberate the Chinese food from its cartons. "Tandoori, huh? Maybe I should come over earlier."

"You would be a welcome anodyne for . . . my mood." Charlie decided at the last second that specificity might be unwise given Millie's predilection for popping in at odd moments.

"I'll see if I can't get out of the meeting early, then," she said, eyes twinkling.

The rest of the day passed without much difference from the previous day, except that he left CalSci at five thirty. He heard Shafer calling their cohorts and letting them know where to go, and he sighed. Spontaneity was just not an option, he supposed. He imagined the hysterics that would ensue if he decided abruptly to go to a movie, or eat out. Then he got an image of Don's reaction. "You want to go into a dark room, surrounded by strangers, where your attention is fifty feet or more in front of you?" And he'd say it in that impatient, talking to an idiot voice.

They arrived at the house, and Charlie saw Don's SUV out front. He didn't usually come home this promptly from the FBI. Charlie was torn between being happy that his brother was so concerned, and being annoyed that he seemed to think Charlie couldn't manage for five minutes on his own. When he opened the door, Don was on the phone, looking puzzled.

"Something wrong?" Charlie asked.

Don shook his head. "No, just another no answer call." He shrugged and hung up. "So, good day?"

"Not bad. Is Millie here yet?"

Don gestured with his head towards the kitchen. "With the requisite glass of red wine," he said with a wry grin.

Somehow dinner was later than usual. Evidently Dad was a little distracted. Charlie and Don watched TV, and Amita showed up just in time for dinner to be served, much to Charlie's relief. She gave him something to think about besides his father making googly eyes at his boss. After dinner, he drew Amita with him into the solarium, so they could have a little private time. The house was very full.

* * *

Friday passed much as Wednesday and Thursday had. Don got to the house just after six. He had a pile of reports to go through, so he set up at the dining room table and began to read, marking some to go back to their originators for increased clarity or fact checking. The next hour and a half passed quietly. His dad was reading, and he took a few phone calls, and Don ploughed through report after report. Just before seven thirty, the phone rang again. His dad picked it up.

Don looked down at his reports, and then the door opened. Charlie walked in looking tired.

"What's up, Chuck?" he asked.

Charlie raised a glower. "Don't call me that," he muttered.

"Bad day?"

"Stupid meeting," Charlie said.

"Crank call," their father said, putting phone down with more force than usual.

Charlie was walking towards the dining room table, but at that he paused. "Crank call? No answer?" Dad nodded. "That's two days in a row."

Don blinked and shook his head. "No, three days," he said. "It happened on Wednesday, too."

"Three in a row at the same time?" Charlie asked.

"Not the same time, Charlie. You got home at five –"

Charlie shook his head, waving him silent. "You're looking at time too narrowly, Don. Yes, incremental time is one aspect, but time can also be measured by its relationships to events. Crank calls coming in just when I come home for three days running can't be a coincidence."

"More than that," his dad said, looking perplexed. "I could swear there were a couple more, earlier in the week. Just when you and Don pulled up outside."

Don looked at Charlie, whose eyes were wide, prepared for his brother to have another attack of the jitters. Instead, Charlie's lips tightened. "What are they, twelve? Following up a kidnap attempt with crank phone calls?"

Don shook his head. Glad as he was that his brother wasn't freaking out, he didn't want him to take things too lightly either. "It's not just crank calls, Charlie. It's . . . it's like they're telling us they're watching."

"We knew that, though, didn't we? Or we assumed."

"Yeah, but why are they telling us?" Don asked rhetorically.

"I can think of a couple of reasons," Charlie said, and Don raised his eyebrows. "Well, it could be that they're really not very sensible, and they couldn't resist thumbing their noses at us." Don nodded. He didn't really like that option, because it didn't auger well for good decision making down the line. "Or, they're trying to upset us, to get us to make stupid mistakes. Isn't that what you always say, Don, not to let emotion get the better of you?"

Don smiled. "Yeah, Chuck, that's what I say."

Charlie shrugged and took the stairs two steps at a time, Miller following him closely. His father walked over. "You're looking flummoxed," he said to Don.

Don looked at the stairs where Charlie had disappeared. "He listened."

His father chuckled. "That happens from time to time," he said, giving Don a sidelong look. "I always found it startling, too."

Don rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks, Dad."

"I'm tired of cooking. Pizza?"

"Sure. I'll call."

* * *

From Charlie's perspective, the weekend passed slowly. He had two different teams of guards for those days, not surprising since it was highly unlikely anyone could keep up the pace that had been set for more than a couple of days in a row. However, it killed any chance he might have had of convincing them to let him work in the garage even during daylight hours. He might have convinced the guys he was used to, who were used to him. It reduced him to a strategy he'd taken up in childhood, one that had driven his mother to distraction. Writing equations on the windows of his bedroom.

When that grew too small, he moved into the solarium. Don got called into the office on an urgent case on Sunday, but since Charlie didn't hear from him, he assumed it wasn't something they needed him for.

Don came into the solarium after nightfall had turned the windows into mirrors. Charlie was standing back and looking at his work when Don came in. "Whoa, this brings back memories."

Charlie looked over at him. "What, of Mom yelling at me?"

"No, do you remember the time you had me dragging the furniture all over so you could reach your equations? Dad came in and found me dragging a table with you standing on it and just about came unglued."

Charlie blinked at him. "Oh, yeah, right . . ." He shook his head, amused by the memory. "You know, I was so absorbed that I barely remember Dad yelling at us."

"Well, I remember," Don said. "He grounded me for a week. Said I was old enough to know better than to be dragging my ten-year-old brother around on top of a table."

"Why were you doing it?" Charlie asked. "I seem to recall you not wanting to spend a lot of time with me that year."

"What, you mean your first year in high school with me?" Don asked. "Yeah, I was a little peeved."

"So why were you helping me?"

"You'd promised to explain my trig homework to me."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Oh, right. You really sucked at trig."

"Who doesn't?" Don exclaimed. "Except for freaks." His eyes were sparkling with mischief.

Charlie glared at him, but before he could retaliate, his father spoke from the doorway. "Boys! Are you never going to stop fighting about that?"

Both Don and Charlie turned guiltily. "We weren't fighting," Charlie protested. "We were just . . . I don't know, revisiting old times."

"Well, I didn't enjoy those particular times," his father said irritably. "You were a couple of brats! Oh, and Charlie, you do know you're going to have to clean that off yourself."

"Yes, Dad, but it needs to stay up for a couple of days while I let it soak in."

"Dinner's ready," he said with a dubious glare at the writing on the windows. "Come and get it while it's hot."

* * *

Monday dawned bright and beautiful. Charlie got up early and went into the solarium to copy his scribblings down so he could take it with him to work. The original pair of guard teams were back on duty, but they'd swapped shifts, leaving Miller, et al, as his morning guards. At the college he went to his two classes, held his office hours and then got down to work, comparing his solarium calculations to the ones he'd done on Wednesday. Amita had a lunch meeting with the curriculum committee, but Larry stopped by for awhile.

Deeply absorbed in work, Charlie let time slip by unnoticed. He was vaguely aware of shift change, but let it pass without comment. At some point in the evening, someone poked him and handed him a chicken sandwich, which he ate absently while continuing to work. After a long while, his cell phone rang. Still rapt in his work, he backed up towards it, flipped it open and answered.

"May I speak to Dr. Charles Eppes?"

Charlie blinked at the unfamiliar voice. "Yeah," he muttered.

"Do you know a Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt?"

This brought him sharply out of his trance. "Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Mayra, I'm a social worker at Mercy General. Dr. Fleinhardt is in our emergency room, and he listed you as his next of kin." That was a phrase guaranteed to alarm.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked worriedly.

"I think you'd better come down here and the doctors can talk to you."

"Right." Charlie put the chalk down and reached for his bag. "I'll be there in five minutes." He shut the phone and put it in his pocket and raced for the door, flung it open, and started towards the stairs.

A hand caught his arm and dragged him to a halt. "Dr. E.? What's wrong?" Shafer demanded.

"Larry," Charlie said. "In the hospital. They won't say why, say I need to talk to the doctors."

"Whoa, Charlie, let me get the car brought around."

"There's no time!" Charlie said, pulling free and hurrying on. "Come on!"

Shafer gave in and started talking into his radio while Charlie raced down the steps, trying to think. What could Larry have . . . his car . . . what if he'd had a wreck? Larry would be devastated as well as injured, and that was a bad combination . . . and there were no seatbelts in that jalopy of his. Corelli joined them at the door and they kept going through the dark campus towards the parking lot.

Charlie had a sudden thought and he grabbed his phone as they ran, hitting speed dial. The phone rang, and then again, then he got Megan. "Charlie? Is something wrong?"

"Megan, I just got a call, from Mercy General."

"Oh no, is someone hurt?"

"Yes!" They were halfway across the parking lot, and he could see Leider running up to join them. "It's Larry. They wouldn't tell me what –"

"Charlie! Larry is not in the hospital," Megan said urgently.

"Yes he is, they called and they –"

"Charlie, Larry is here with me!"

Charlie stopped dead where he was. The sedan was about twenty feet ahead. "He's with you?" he asked, astonished.

"Right here, I can see him."

The guards stopped ahead of him and turned back to return to his side. "What is it, Dr. E.?" Shafer asked.

Charlie looked at him, stunned. "Larry's with Megan. He's not in the –"

At that moment all hell broke loose. Dark figures swarmed at them, and Corelli grabbed Charlie, shoving him backwards, but holding onto him. Gunfire rang out and Charlie didn't know where to go or where to look. Something slammed into him from the left, bowling him over, and it happened so suddenly that he didn't know whether it was friend or foe who hit him. Two more gunshots rang out, and he felt an odd stinging at the back of his neck. The weight on him was wrenched off, and he felt hands grabbing at him, dragging him upright and trying to move him, but his brain seemed to have somehow been put at a distance. He couldn't move himself properly, so he was dependent on whoever was dragging him along. He tried to force himself to look at the man, but he couldn't get his head to turn.

Another body hurtled into him, and he fell on his side, then he could feel himself being dragged along the asphalt. "What's wrong with you, Dr. E?" asked a voice that was familiar enough to make him weak with relief. But what the hell was Philip Thompson doing out here? A sudden fear wrenched his gut. What if Philip wasn't what he seemed?

A vehicle started and roared away, and Charlie didn't know for sure what that meant. His thinking was growing confused. The last thing he heard was Shafer's voice, ragged with pain. "Oh God, Dr. Eppes? What . . ."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Don pulled up to a screeching halt outside the ring of emergency vehicles and crime scene tape. there were students gathered at the edges, full of round-eyed excitement. He pushed his way through. A call from Megan followed by a call from the bureau dispatcher had sent him driving as fast as he safely could to reach the campus. He shoved his way through the students and ducked under the crime scene tape.

Charlie lay on the ground near the car the bodyguards had been using, surrounded by paramedics. He wasn't moving. Don's breath caught in his chest, and he stared at the motionless form, so still, like in his dream. He stumbled forward. "Charlie? Is he –"

Agent Perez caught him by the arm. "He's fine, Agent Eppes, but they took this off him." He held up a little baggy with a small square of something flesh colored. "It was on the back of his neck, and they think it had some kind of tranquilizing drug in it."

Don barely registered that in the time it took to shake Perez's hand off. He kept moving forward to fall on his knees beside his little brother. He was breathing. That was clear. Relief made him weak, and he cupped his hands over his nose and mouth, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his brother's chest.

"Sir, can you move back?" one of the paramedics said, and Don stumbled to his feet. They gently lifted Charlie onto a gurney and strapped him in.

"I'm going with him," Don said, but his voice seemed to belong to someone else.

"Who are you?" the paramedic asked.

"He's my little brother."

Within moments, they were in the ambulance, sirens blaring. Charlie was pale, but he didn't appear to be hurt. The paramedics were continuing to check him out, talking to him in that impersonal way they used when they didn't know the victim's name. "Charlie," Don said. "His name is Charlie."

When they reached the hospital, they were greeted by another trio of FBI agents, led by Fogarty. The doctors wheeled Charlie in and put him in a side ward of the emergency room, but they didn't chase Don or Fogarty away. Don watched them take blood, and finally sank into a chair.

"Do you know what happened, Don?" Fogarty asked.

Don shook his head. "I just got a call from Megan," he said. "She told me someone had lured him out of safety, but she didn't know where. Something about Larry being in the hospital."

"Dr. Fleinhardt?" Fogarty asked.

"Yeah."

"Do we know where he is?"

"With Megan," Don said, starting to get up. "I have to call my father."

"Someone's already gone to pick him up, Don," Fogarty said, and Don sat back down. "Don't worry. David will bring him straight to the hospital."

Don nodded, and Fogarty left him alone. The nurses came in and began to hook Charlie up to some machines. One of them looked at him. "Sir, can you step outside, please?"

He shook his head. "No, I – he's under guard from the FBI. Someone has to be in here with him, and I'm his brother, so . . ."

"I see."

"I can turn around," he suggested, and she nodded. Don turned his head away, but he couldn't help sneaking peeks as they cut his clothes off. This revealed numerous bruises and abrasions, and Don felt anger stirring in his belly. It didn't get past the surface shock, though. When they'd covered him with a patient gown, he turned back around. One of them was now making notes on Charlie's charts from the monitors they'd hooked up. "Is he okay?"

"His vitals seem okay," he said, "but the doctor will have to talk to you after we get more results."

"Right," Don said. "Thanks." He pulled his chair closer to the bed. "Charlie, buddy, you're going to be okay." He rested his arms on the railing on the side of the bed and put his forehead down on his hands. That had come too close. Too close by far.

Don wasn't sure how much time had passed when he felt his father's hand on his back. "What have the doctors said?" he asked.

"They haven't come in yet," Don said. "I . . . the nurse said his vitals were okay."

"David told me they didn't catch any of them, and that one of Charlie's students helped save the day."

Don looked up. "One of Charlie's students?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, apparently he heard gunshots, and instead of being sensible, he ran towards them. He grabbed Charlie and dragged him out of the way of the fight, then stood between him and everyone else."

"Wow," Don said. "He's lucky they didn't take him for one of the kidnappers."

"Donnie, are you okay?" his father asked suddenly.

"Me?" Don asked in surprise. "Yeah, Dad, sure."

"Because you look a lot like Charlie did after the first attack."

"When I got there he wasn't moving, Dad," Don said. "He was just lying there, and I couldn't tell if he was breathing." He shook his head. "He was so pale, and he looked . . ." Don couldn't finish, he just gazed at Charlie's face.

"In that case, I'm glad I didn't see him till now."

A doctor walked in. "Well, the preliminary test results are back, and they're promising. We had a sample of the drug patch, and so were able to focus our tests on the drugs present there. He has a decent dollop of them in his system, but they should wash through in a few hours, faster with the drip we've put him on."

"So he'll be fine?"

"Right as rain," the doctor said. "We'll want to keep him here for observation, of course, but he should be fine."

Don felt like he was going to pass out from relief. Those were all the right words. Charlie was going to be okay. He felt his father's hand on his back again, and took comfort from the closeness.

* * *

Megan walked with Larry into the emergency room looking for the nook where Charlie had been tucked. It was easy to find, they just had to find the ward with the FBI agent standing outside it. She caught sight of Agent Perez and angled Larry in that direction. She nodded to him and slipped inside. Don and Alan were already there, she was glad to see. "Hey, guys," she said softly.

Larry cannoned past her to the opposite side of the bed from where Don was sitting. "Charles," he exclaimed softly. "How could you be so foolish? Charles?" He touched Charlie's shoulder. "Charles?"

"He's sedated, Larry," Alan said, and Larry sighed himself into a chair pulled up beside the bed.

Megan's attention was on Don. He seemed almost as pale as Charlie, and she had a suspicion that he was still in shock. She looked up at Alan, who looked worried about both his boys. "How are you holding up?" she asked him. No point in asking Don, he'd just say he was fine.

"I'm a little shaken, but could someone go get Don some coffee? I think he needs a stimulant."

"Sure, I'll be back shortly." She left the ward and almost ran into David. She caught his arm and dragged him with her. "Okay, what's going on?" she demanded as soon as they were out of the emergency room. "I got a call from Charlie telling me that Larry was in the emergency room, I told him he wasn't and then I heard grunts, yelling and gunfire. Then the line went dead."

"His cell phone was crushed," David said. He looked a little tense. "It was scary, Megan, no doubt. Five guys set on them, one of them with a drug patch that he got onto Charlie's neck."

"Is that why he's asleep?"

"Yeah. He got a good dose before they peeled it off him, and that wasn't more that two or three minutes."

"Wow, do they know what it is?"

"Yes, but we're not talking about it," David said, giving her a meaningful look. "This is real next level stuff, Megan. Whoever this is, they know what they're doing. It's possible that the only reason they didn't get him this time is that you told him Larry was safe."

She tilted her head. "How do you figure?"

"Because he stopped in his tracks about thirty feet away from the car and the van that was parked beside it. He also told his guards that the call had been a lie. If he hadn't done those two things, they'd have been right beside the car, and they probably would have been taken by surprise. According to Perez, who parked the car, the van was there in the morning, so it didn't seem like a threat."

"Holy shit," Megan muttered.

David shook his head. "How's Don?" he asked.

"Freaked out," Megan said. "And no wonder. Charlie looks like sleeping beauty in there. I can't imagine what he must be feeling." They had reached the coffee machine, so she slotted some coins in and selected black. "But Charlie is okay."

"We think. We're really hoping none of that shit they put in his system is immediately addictive, because, like I said, he got a solid dose." Megan blinked, finding that idea deeply alarming. "Yeah," David said in apparent appreciation of her expression. "Imagine Eppes in withdrawals," he said.

Megan gave him an outraged look. "Was that a dig?"

"Hey, I've known him longer," David said defensively.

"Yeah, but was that a dig?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Maybe a little of both. Think about it, Charlie's a manic little shit at the best of times."

Megan scowled. "You ever been through withdrawals, David?" He shook his head. "Then don't joke." She started a second cup.

He looked taken aback for a moment, then grimaced ruefully. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, and she relented. "I just can't help thinking it should have been us. I mean, he's on our team and he's being guarded by these other guys, who screwed up."

"They didn't screw up, David, they –"

"They did," David said sharply. "I'm not saying we wouldn't maybe have done the same thing, but they screwed up. They didn't call the hospital to double check the facts."

"Are we sure they didn't?" she asked, picking up the full cup of coffee.

"They didn't, they admit as much," David said.

"Oh." Megan blinked as they turned back to the emergency room. "Larry was absolutely livid."

"Larry?" David exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes, Larry," she replied, glaring at him. "To know that they'd used Charlie's concern for his well being to lure him into danger. It pissed him off. Royally. He was throwing things."

"Ooh," David said. "Not good."

"No, not good." Megan sighed. She hated being out of the loop on this. "Catch these guys, David. You're the only one of us officially working on it."

"Yeah, I know," he said, biting his lip. "Where's Colby by the way?"

Megan was struck by a sudden realization. "I need to call him and tell him what happened. He took a couple of personal days to go look into some things."

"Look into . . ." David stared at her. "Is he investigating?"

She nodded. "He's following up some leads he's found."

"Leads?" David repeated. "He's found leads and I don't know about it? You aren't keeping things from us, are you?"

"David!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "I brief Fogarty whenever Colby calls me. We didn't want to get you involved because it would look kind of weird."

"Right," he said. "So, he's the one who made the military connection?"

She nodded. "And he's following it up, with a little help from me on the computer."

"And Fogarty's going for this?"

"Colby's got connections we don't, and he's already in place." She shrugged. "Fogarty's stopped just short of making his position official."

David grinned. "He got his cell phone?" She nodded. "I'll call him. I have to go out to the crime scene."

"Okay, thanks." They parted ways at the entrance to the emergency room and she went into Charlie's nook. "Hey, Don, I brought you some –" He looked up and she drew the coffee back. His eyes were pits of controlled rage. "Um . . . I'll be back in a second. Alan, can I . . ." She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the edge of the ward. "Alan, the last thing he needs is a stimulant." Alan started to protest, but she shook her head. "Get a good look at his face."

Alan turned and she could feel the tension in him increase. "Oh. No, I see what you mean."

"This is for you," she said, handing him one of the coffees she'd brought, then she walked over to Larry's side. "Here."

He took it and gave her a look of gratitude. "Thank you. Caffeine does have a soothing effect on my nervous system."

"Good," she said, looking down at Charlie. Now if he'd just wake up, maybe Don could put the anger aside and focus on something more positive.

* * *

Charlie opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him. He didn't know what it meant. It was a hung ceiling, textured with a pattern like enormous leaves. It was immensely fascinating, the way it had been incised into the ceiling panels, the overlapping of the shapes, the differences in depth between one shape and the next.

There was a sudden flurry of activity around him, and he turned his head with great effort to see Don staring at him from about two feet away. He grinned. He always liked to see his brother. "Hi Don."

"Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?" Don asked intently.

Charlie sighed happily. "Good," he said. "What's up? Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," Don said. His eyes crinkled in a very amusing way. It made Charlie want to laugh, but Don was being painfully serious. "Do you remember anything?"

Charlie considered the question. "Yes!" he said cheerily. He remembered many things. "Where do you want me to start? Is it a game?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's a game." Charlie smiled. He liked to play games with Don. "Do you remember someone calling you and telling you that Larry was in the hospital?"

Charlie blinked at him. "Larry's in the hospital?" he exclaimed. He knew that should worry him, but it didn't, somehow. It sort of floated into his consciousness, but didn't impact on his mood in any way.

Don shook his head. "No, he's not, but someone called you to say he was. Do you remember that?"

"Why would they do that if he wasn't?" Charlie asked, very confused. He wasn't having much fun. "This is a weird game, Don."

"Okay," Don said, and he looked puzzled.

That made Charlie want to laugh, too, but he didn't think Don would like it. Instead, he turned his head to look at the rest of the room. On his other side, Larry was sitting by the bed and Megan was standing beside him. Wait . . . he twisted his head back and gave Don a reproachful look. "Hey, you said Larry wasn't in the hospital."

"He's just visiting," Don said.

"Oh." He turned back. "Hi Larry, hi Megan."

"Hi Charlie," Megan said with a smile. She had a really nice smile, and great eyes. She was smart and brave and funny.

"You know, Megan," he said, "Larry's a lucky guy."

Megan's eyes widened, and she blinked several times. "Thank you, Charlie," she said and her voice sounded weird. He wondered why.

"Hoh boy." Charlie looked up. His dad was standing behind Don.

"Hi Dad!" he said, but he was distracted by what his father had said. He looked down at himself. Was he a boy? It seemed an interesting question. "I don't know," he declared. "Let me check." He flipped off the blanket and reached for the hem of the brief gown he was wearing.

Larry put a hand on his arm. "Charles! Charles, it's all right, you're a boy."

Charlie turned to him. "Are you sure?" he asked earnestly.

"Quite sure. Charles, how do you feel?"

"Great," Charlie said, only it wasn't quite as true now. He was beginning to feel an odd dragging sensation of his mood. Could moods drag? "Larry, can moods drag?"

"Yes, they can," Larry said. "Is your euphoria waning?"

"Euphoria," Charlie said contemplatively. "That is an excellent word." He smiled and let his head sag back into the pillow. "An excellent word. A word that truly sums up the feeling I feel. Sums . . . euphoria adds up to ninety-three . . . so it gets an A." He considered the question Larry had asked. "Yes."

"Yes what, buddy?" Don asked.

"Don!" Charlie exclaimed, turning to see his brother on his right side. "What are you doing here?"

Don stared at him for a second. "Visiting, buddy."

"Oh." Charlie sighed. His euphoria was indeed waning. "Can I go to sleep?"

* * *

Megan thought Don looked pretty flummoxed by the question. "Okay," he said uncertainly, and Charlie smiled beatifically. He rolled over on his side, heedless of the many wires that were attached to him. He closed his eyes, but then he started grabbing at the IV on his left arm.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Your IV, Charlie," Alan said.

"My four? I have a four?" Charlie asked, his eyes wide. "Can I take it off?"

"No, it needs to stay there," Alan said.

"Oh. How long?"

Alan opened his mouth, then looked thoughtful. "Till it's five," he said. Charlie nodded and fell almost instantly asleep.

A doctor came in to check on him, and Megan filled him in on what had happened. "That's a good sign. I hadn't expected him to wake up this soon, nor for him to make that much sense." He nodded. "Let me know if he wakes up again." He bustled out.

"That was sense?" Don exclaimed. The killing rage seemed to have banked itself on Charlie's awakening. She could see it smoldering deep in his eyes, but he no longer had to make such an all-consuming effort to control it.

Megan nodded. "He knew who he was, he knew all of us. He was confused and giddy, but really, Don, not too bad."

Abruptly, Charlie reached out under the rail of the bed and grabbed Don's hand, pulling it close to his chest and hugging it as if it were a teddy bear or something. Don looked stunned, and Alan – who had been solid as a rock throughout – suddenly looked close to breakdown. Larry jumped up and guided the older man around to his chair, and he and Megan effaced themselves quietly.

Fogarty walked up. "How is he?" he asked.

"Well, he woke up for a few minutes," Megan said. "But he was high as a kite and didn't remember anything."

"Great," Fogarty said with entrenched sarcasm. "What exactly did he say to you?"

Megan shook her head. "I'm telling you, none of it had anything to do with what happened."

Fogarty shook his head. "No, when he called." The nurses shooed them out of the emergency room, and they found an unoccupied corner. "What did he say when he called you?" Fogarty asked again.

"He said that he'd had a call from Mercy General. I asked if someone was hurt, and he said it was Larry. I told him Larry was with me and then . . ." She grimaced. "I heard a lot of shouting, a grunt and a gunshot. Then the phone went dead."

"Do you have your cell phone with you?" he asked. She nodded and pulled it out. "What time did the call end?" She looked and told him. "Thanks. I'm just glad he thought to call you."

Megan couldn't agree more. "And he didn't call me because I'm FBI, but because I'm dating Larry."

"A fortuitous turn of fate," Larry said, nodding soberly. Fogarty looked puzzled by the comment, but she just took Larry's hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back, then disentangled himself. "If you will excuse me, there is a phone call I must make."

Megan's eyes widened. "Amita!"

"Indeed." He nodded to them and hurried towards the pay phones.

"I don't like trusting to luck," Fogarty said. "But it's luck that got us out of this one."

"Luck, and Charlie's good heart," Megan said. Fogarty gave her a dubious look, but let it pass.

* * *

It was close to noon when they made it home. Their father had gone ahead in Don's SUV, and Don had traveled in the bureau car with Charlie, Agents Miller, Tam and Perez. They'd taken over early, so Don wasn't sure how long they'd be on for. Of the other team, two were injured, one too badly to return to the detail. Shafer had a broken wrist and a shattered hand, so he would not be returning. Charlie didn't know yet, and Don wasn't sure how he'd react. At this point he was well past the euphoria the drugs had induced, and in its wake had come a crash that had left Charlie depressed both physically and mentally. Not only that, but the whole experience had left him shaken, a feeling Don was loath to add to by telling him how badly his guards had been injured.

They pulled up in front of the house, and Don glanced out the back window and saw the second car pull up. It contained another team of bodyguards to augment Charlie's detail, and Fogarty, who wanted to question Charlie if he was up to it. Don had said absolutely not in the hospital.

Perez came around and opened the door by Charlie, and Don encouraged his brother to get out of the car. He got out after him and put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, buddy."

"Sorry, Don, I seem to be kind of . . ." He shook his head. "Sorry."

"No worries, Chuck," Don said.

The front door opened as they approached, and Don heard the phone ringing. Their father nodded at them and disappeared, no doubt to answer the phone. Unbelievably, Charlie started to chuckle. Don shook his head. "Maybe it's someone else."

"What do you want to bet?" Charlie challenged, giving him a sardonic look.

Don grimaced. "Not taking that action."

They went inside, and Charlie headed for the nearest chair. Their father slammed the phone down. "Another one of those damned calls!" he growled.

Charlie snorted, and Don glared at him. "It's not funny."

Charlie shrugged. "It's just so juvenile," he said, and Don saw that his expression wasn't amused, it was ironic. "They failed, and it pisses them off, so they're trying to freak us out."

"Well, they're doing a fine job," their dad said. "If it wouldn't make things worse, I'd pack up the both of you and go somewhere far away."

"Dad, you wouldn't do that," Don protested.

"Try me." He went into the kitchen. Don watched his father go, worried about him. He was not a young man, and the level of stress this was causing couldn't be good for him.

"Don?"

Don sat down next to him. "Yeah, Charlie?"

"Please tell me I didn't do anything too humiliating."

Don grinned. This was a perfect opportunity to distract his brother a little. "No, not much," he said slyly.

Charlie's eyes widened. "What do you mean, not much?" he demanded.

Don knit his brows together. "Well, you did try to expose yourself in front of Megan."

"You're kidding!" Charlie exclaimed, looking horrified.

"Yeah, you wanted to prove you were a boy."

"To Megan?"

"No, to Dad. Megan's presence was incidental."

"Oh." Charlie paused, seeming to process hard. "Good, I think."

"You told Megan that Larry was a lucky guy."

"I what?" Charlie said. "Oh God. Who was there when I said that?"

Don shrugged. "Megan, of course. Dad, me and Larry."

Charlie sighed a little, though he still looked pained. "That's not too bad."

Don decided not to mention the hand holding thing. No one else would tell him, and Charlie didn't need that kind of distraction. "You weren't awake very long, honest. You didn't do anything bad."

The door opened again, and Fogarty came in. Don sat up in his chair as the other agent approached. "Dr. Eppes, how are you feeling?" he asked.

Charlie gave him a shrug. "I'll live. Do you have any leads?"

"A few," he said. "Unfortunately, most of what we know is negative. But what I've come here for is to find out if you remember anything about what happened last night."

Charlie took a deep breath and sighed, looking thoughtful. "I was absolutely focused, working. A couple of lines of reasoning were coming together finally, and then the phone rang."

"Do you know about what time that was?" Fogarty asked.

"No clue," Charlie replied, and Don wasn't surprised. Looking at a clock would mean a loss of focus. "It was a woman, a voice I didn't know, and she asked for me. Then she asked if I knew Larry . . . or rather, Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt."

"How did she ask for you?"

"Dr. Charles Eppes," Charlie said, and Fogarty nodded. "So I said I did and asked who she was. She said her name was Mayra, that she was a social worker at Mercy General, and that Dr. Fleinhardt was in the emergency room." Fogarty was taking notes. "She told me I was written down as his next of kin. I asked what was wrong, and she said I'd better come down and speak to the doctors." He shook his head. "It was completely believable."

"A very alarming message, too," Fogarty said. Charlie nodded. "It didn't surprise you to be referred to as Charles Eppes?"

"Larry always calls me Charles," he said. "Has ever since Princeton."

"I see." Fogarty made another note. "What about the attack? What do you remember from that?"

Charlie's face contorted into unhappy lines, and Don had to repress a purely brotherly urge to tell Fogarty to take his questions and stuff them.

"It was very confused," Charlie said. "I called Megan on the way across the parking lot and found out Larry was with her, and –"

"Why didn't you wait until you got in the car to call?"

"I don't know," Charlie said, seeming puzzled by the question. "I just didn't. Anyway, she said Larry was with her and I stopped. Shafer and Corelli continued on for a few feet before they noticed, and one of them asked what was up. I started to answer, and after that things were so confused that I didn't quite know what was happening. It was like a game of football and I was the ball." Don didn't like that image. Charlie got that odd, vague look on his face, and Don guessed that there were calculations going on. "Someone knocked me over, and I felt something stinging on my neck." Charlie's hand moved to the spot where a bandage covered the chemical burn left by the patch. "After that, I remember voices, people dragging me this way and that, but nothing really clear except that I couldn't make my body obey me." Don shuddered slightly. It came just too damned close, and he wasn't altogether liking Charlie's affect. He was getting very blank. He seemed to shake himself slightly, and he moistened his lips. "Then I woke up in the hospital," he said, seeming a lot more normal. He then rested his head back against the chair, looking positively wiped out.

Their father bustled up with a steaming mug. "Here, Charlie. Hot cocoa. God for what ails you. Don, Agent Fogarty, you want some?"

"No, thank you," Fogarty said. He collected his notes and stood up. "Eppes, can I talk to you outside for a moment?" When all three of them looked up like they weren't sure who he meant, he sighed. "Agent Eppes?"

"Sure," Don said, getting up. "You okay, buddy?"

Charlie shrugged, which Don took as 'could be better.' He squeezed Charlie's shoulder and followed Fogarty out onto the porch. "What's up?"

"Would you tell Agent Reeves that the little bird she's getting her info from is a gold mine, but I don't want him taking too many risks. He won't help anyone by getting himself killed."

Don blinked. "I'll let her know."

Fogarty promised to keep him in the loop and left. Don went back inside and found that his father had taken his chair. "He say anything useful?" his father asked.

"Nothing," Don said, shaking his head. "Charlie . . ."

"How are they?" Charlie asked, looking up. "Shafer and Corelli?"

Don bit his lip. "Corelli has a bump on the head with a little scratch, nothing serious. He'll be back in a couple of days."

"Okay, and Shafer?"

"Broken wrist," Don said, grimacing. "A bad break."

Charlie thumped his head back against the chair. "I heard his voice, just before I went out. He sounded like he was hurting."

Don sank onto the sofa. "He'll be fine, Charlie."

His brother sighed. "I don't like people getting hurt for me."

"Charlie, that's . . ."

"It's his job," their dad said. "If he hadn't been guarding you, he might have been guarding someone less worthy."

Both Don and Charlie looked over at him in surprise. "Dad, I don't like people getting hurt at all," Charlie said, looking particularly pathetic. "That it was for me just makes it worse."

"Don't worry about it, Charlie," Don said. "It's not your problem. It's not your fault."

Charlie shook his head. "Anyway, this week is shot. The doctors want me to come back in tomorrow for whatever reason, so I'm not getting back to work till Thursday."

"Work?" Their father jumped up to his feet. "Charlie, you can't really be thinking of going back to work. You need to stay where it's safe."

"What?" Charlie exclaimed, sitting forward. "Dad, that's not possible." He shook his head vigorously. "I can't – it's not reasonable." Charlie turned pleading eyes on Don, trying to get him to take his side. At the same time, their dad turned a sharp glare on him, daring his son to oppose the stand he was taking.

Don took a deep breath and chose his words with care. Much as he wanted to wrap Charlie in cotton wool and tuck him away where no bad guys could ever find him, it wasn't realistic, nor, as Charlie said, reasonable. "Dad, Charlie can't turn off his life indefinitely," he said. "For one thing, that might be just what these guys are aiming for. For another, he has work to do."

"He can work uninterrupted on cognitive emergence if he stays here."

"I am not staying here," Charlie said fervently. "I will go back to work on Thursday, and Friday, and next week. I'm not giving in to these bastards. Besides, here has already proven unsafe."

Don could have gone all year without hearing Charlie say that, and from his expression, so could their dad, who sank back into his chair. "I know," he said softly. "I never wanted anything like this to happen in our home."

"Who does?" Charlie asked. "But I'll be damned if I'll hide in a corner."

"We've increased the detail, Dad," Don said, and Charlie turned as if this was news to him, too, though he'd been present during the relevant conversations. "There will be two guys with the car all day, and more rovers on campus."

Charlie thumped his head back against the chair again. "Great. So, did it hit the news this time?"

"Oh yeah. There were too many witnesses to gunfire on campus, and it was too hard to keep the resident student population from showing up at the crime scene."

"Showing up . . ." Charlie sat up again. "Don, did any of my students see me like that?"

"Aside from Philip Thompson, I'm not sure. There was a crowd, and I didn't pay much attention." Don shrugged, looking down at his hands. "When I got there, all I knew for sure was that there had been another attack."

"Philip Thompson? Why did you notice him if you didn't notice anyone else?"

Don looked up. "You don't . . . I guess you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

"He's the one who dragged you away from the fight and kept a guard on you till the bad guys drove off."

Charlie blinked. "I don't remember anything about that."

"Well, from what the guys say, he turned the tide. There were six of them. I don't know all of what happened, but I do know that it came way too close."

"You're not kidding," Dad said.

"I wasn't sure where I'd wake up, frankly," Charlie said.

"My God, Charlie, that's awful," their dad replied.

"I must admit, after the fact, to a certain amount of curiosity as to where I would have woken up. And what it is they want."

Don rolled his eyes. "You, curious, that's surprising."

"Well, I'd just as soon you didn't find out," their dad said.

"Me too," Charlie said. "But I can't help being curious."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

They spent the rest of Tuesday quietly. Charlie napped for awhile on the sofa because neither Don nor their father wanted him out of sight. Charlie couldn't blame them. He didn't particularly want to be out of sight. They sat down to dinner as a family, and Charlie found his stomach twisting uneasily. He hadn't had this reaction so far, but it seemed somehow even more real now that they'd made a second attempt.

Abruptly, Dad rose and walked over to the kitchen door. He grabbed a heavy vase

and propped the door open with it. When he turned back and saw Don and Charlie staring at him, he made an irritable face. "It was bothering me."

"Me too," Charlie said. "So thanks."

"That really makes me mad!" their father growled. "We should be able to feel safe in our own home. It's just wrong."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Charlie said.

"And it's not your fault, so why are you apologizing?"

Charlie shrugged. He felt guilty, whether or not it was rational. He finished as much of his dinner as he could, but he felt slightly nauseated. While Dad and Don finished, he just pushed the remaining food around on his plate.

"Charlie, you need to eat all your food," Dad said when he saw what Charlie was doing.

"I've had enough," Charlie said.

"You can't possibly have. You need to –"

"Dad!" Don said, interrupting him. "Let him be. If he gets hungry later, he can have something then."

Reluctantly, Charlie's dad gave up pushing him to eat, and Charlie went into the kitchen to clear his plate and put it in the dishwasher. He stared out the window, wondering just how many guards there were wandering on his property, and off. And where the guy who called them every time he got home was watching from. Most of all, though, he wanted to know when his life could go back to normal.

When he headed up to bed, Don professed tiredness, but he suspected that his brother just wanted to be as close to him as possible. In the hall outside their rooms, Don cleared his throat. "Hey Charlie?"

Charlie turned, raising his eyebrows curiously. Don reached out and gave him a tight hug. It was startling, and Charlie wasn't sure what to do for a second. "Don, what are you doing?"

"That was too close, buddy," Don said. "You scared me half to death."

Charlie wrapped his arms around his brother. It wasn't a gesture they'd engaged in often, but it felt right at the moment. "Me too," he said.

"Don't ever do that again."

"I don't want to," Charlie said.

Don gave him a squeeze and then drew away. "I swear, I aged ten years," he said. "I don't know how I'm going to manage to have kids if my little brother gives me gray hairs."

Charlie grimaced. "I shouldn't have taken off like that, I should have waited for them to bring the car around."

"Yeah, you should have," Don said. "But I'm not going to yell at you about that. I just . . . do what the guards tell you, Charlie. They know what they're doing."

"I thought Larry was in the hospital," Charlie protested.

"And what good would it have done Larry in the hospital for you to get yourself kidnapped on the way?" Don asked. Charlie's expression of chagrin deepened, and Don shook his head. "Okay, I said I wasn't going to yell at you, and I'm not. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Thanks," Charlie said. "I . . . I really am tired, Don."

"I know. Good night. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

After breakfast, Charlie contemplated the next step. He had to go back to the hospital for some kind of test, but the very thought of going out the front door made his gut curdle. The kitchen door was still blocked open with the vase. Charlie grimaced and stood up. "You ready to go, Don?" he called.

His brother had stayed home from work to go with him to the hospital. Charlie felt ludicrous, but he was glad that Don was coming. Where his big words from the previous day had gone he didn't know. Apparently they didn't possess much staying power. All he wanted to do right now was go back up to his room and hide.

"What's the rush?" Don asked. He flipped up his collar to put his tie on. "No matter when we get there, we'll have to wait."

Charlie shrugged. "I just don't want to . . . I don't . . ." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

Don's brow furrowed. "Something wrong, bud?"

"No, nothing," Charlie said, but he was sure Don could tell he was lying.

"Charlie, what is it?"

"I feel like such a loser," he said, and Don raised his eyebrows. "And then I don't feel like a loser, because who wouldn't be freaked? I mean, some guy slapped something on my neck and I woke up like six hours later." He shook his head again. "And then I get angry, so angry . . . and I don't like being angry. I'm not any good at it."

Don looked at him like he'd said something strange. "You're not good at being angry?"

"You're great at it," Charlie said, and Don looked even more startled.

"Should I be offended?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, that's not . . ." Charlie grimaced. "I mean, you get angry, you get focused. You channel it all into something productive. I get angry, and I can't focus, no matter how hard I try. I feel fractured, mentally." He gestured vaguely at his head. "And I want to hurt them, and I don't like that either."

"It's okay, Charlie. It's perfectly natural to –"

"Nothing about this is okay, Don!" Charlie exclaimed.

"I don't mean it that way, Charlie. I mean that it's not an unusual way to feel. There's nothing wrong with you for feeling like that."

"I'm not worried that there's something wrong with me," Charlie said. "It's just . . . I can't string two thoughts together. I know there's something I'm missing, something important that could help us to make sense of this, but I can't figure out what it is because every time I try to think about it my gut twists into a knot and I feel like hiding under my bed."

Don stared at him wordlessly for several seconds, then shook his head. "I'm sorry this is happening, Charlie, I –"

"Now what are you sounding guilty for?" Charlie demanded.

"I should have stopped them first thing," Don said. "I should have –"

"Not helping, Don!" Charlie said. "Besides, we only know about two guys that time. From last count, that would have left four guys unaccounted for, and we wouldn't have known about them."

Don looked staggered by this information. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well, I had. And why hadn't you? You're an FBI agent. It's your job."

"It's not usually my little brother," Don said, and Charlie felt a stab of guilt.

"Sorry."

Don shook his head. "No worries, Chuck," he said. "You ready?"

"Is Dad coming?"

"Of course I'm coming." Their father emerged from the kitchen. "Have you both had enough to eat? Charlie, you didn't finish your –"

"Dad!" Don said chidingly.

"All right, all right," he said. He gave Charlie a worried look. "Maybe you should get this doctor to give you something for nausea."

* * *

After the doctor had declared him well enough, Charlie had suggested going back to work. Both Don and Dad had nixed that idea and had taken him resolutely home. He didn't fight them as much as he might have because the idea of going back to campus made him extremely nervous. Evidently he had overestimated his own ability to bounce back.

Leider stood himself by the door, seeming very out of place with the two substitutes who'd stepped in for Corelli and Shafer. One of them, an Agent Orton, went upstairs, while Agent Tutwiler went outside to patrol. There was another trio outside already, if he understood correctly, three men whose names he didn't know. He'd seen them, so that he wouldn't run away from them if disaster struck and they had to emerge from the background, but he didn't know them.

Once they were home and settled, Don went off to work, and Charlie wasn't sure what he thought about that. There wasn't anything for him to work on in Don's current case, so there was no point in going with him, but Charlie didn't much like staying behind either.

Dad had some work to do from one of his consulting gigs, so he settled to do that on the dining room table. Charlie felt at loose ends. He couldn't focus on cognitive emergence, he didn't have any consulting work to do, and he didn't know what to do with himself. Finally, he grabbed some window cleaner and paper towels and went to clean his jottings off the windows in the solarium and his bedroom. That took awhile, and after that, he dug up the list his father had given him. He'd gotten the urgent stuff done right away, but the less urgent stuff he'd left till he had time. Well, he had time.

He found it a lot easier to concentrate on the furnace than on cognitive emergence. Leider had followed him down and stood by one of the windows. Charlie thought it unlikely that anyone would either try to get in by those windows, or try to get him out through them, but bodyguards had to be into caution. The work was mundane and soothing, and Charlie appreciated that. At the moment, he felt very disconnected and bizarre, and he didn't like the sensation. Physical labor grounded him.

Unfortunately, some of the tasks he needed to accomplish were outside, and the guards weren't any too thrilled with him going outside for any length of time. Finally, he flopped in front of the TV and pulled out his video game console. He wasn't sure he could focus on a game, but it was better than sitting doing nothing.

"You okay, Charlie?" his father asked as he put the third different game disk into the machine.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just . . . restless."

"You're seeming kind of jittery."

Charlie shook his head, automatically rejecting the adjective. "Not jittery, Dad. Just restless."

His father put his hands on his shoulders. "It's okay to be jittery, Charlie, under the circumstances."

"I'm not jittery," Charlie protested. "Really." He shook his head. "Why, are you?"

"Hell yes," his father said.

Charlie sat forward and turned around. "Maybe you should go on a cruise somewhere," he said. "You don't have to stay around here and risk . . . anything."

Alan stared at him for a moment, blinking. "What, are you telling me to abandon my sons? To go on a cruise?"

Charlie stood up. "No, it's not abandoning, it's . . . protective."

Alan shook his head. "Right, I should go lie on a boat somewhere and relax in the sun while you're back here in danger."

"If I knew you were safe and out of the way, they couldn't use you against me like they used Larry," Charlie pointed out with what he thought was irrefutable logic.

This seemed to freeze his dad in his tracks, but then he shook his head. "And if I was in the Bahamas or the Riviera, or wherever, and you got a call saying I was hurt or in trouble, who would you check with to make sure if it was true or not? Don't be a nitwit, Charlie. I'm not going anywhere."

"Dad, he threatened to kill you." Charlie's voice broke on that, and he clenched his teeth. This was stupid. He was not going to break down. He'd held together this long, he was not going to fall apart now.

"I remember, Charlie, and I'll be honest, it scared me."

Charlie gulped, and looked down at the floor. "And it's my fault. If they didn't want me for whatever reason, you guys would be safe."

His father came around the chair and put his hand on Charlie's arm. "That doesn't make it your fault, kiddo," he said.

"What do they want? I mean, what exactly are they after? If we knew that, maybe . . ." Charlie paused thoughtfully.

"What are you saying?" Now his father sounded alarmed. "Charlie?"

Charlie shook his head, deep in thought. If he could find out what they wanted, it would make it easier to figure out who they were. There had to be a way to find out, some way of communicating with them.

"Charlie, what are you thinking?"

Charlie wandered into the solarium and stared at the blank windows. There was someone watching the house, someone who called them whenever Charlie got home, always as Charlie came up the steps into the house. That limited the possible vantage points. This was what had been niggling in the back of his head. He sincerely doubted that one of their neighbors was harboring a villain, or that one of their neighbors was a villain, though anything was possible, he supposed.

He began computing angles and field of view. They couldn't be guessing – it was too accurate for that. No one got out of their car and walked up to the house at a consistent rate every single time. There were things to be gathered, songs to be listened to on the radio, all sorts of things that could delay a person's exit from the vehicle. That meant it had to be someone with a view of the steps. And if someone had a view of the steps . . .

He dashed back through the house and opened the door, going out onto the porch. He needed a better idea of where the trees were. That made a huge difference in terms of line of sight.

"Charlie, what are you doing?" He felt hands grab him and drag him back inside, but he had what he needed.

"Let go," he muttered, pulling his arms free. He hurried back to the solarium, dimly aware of his father's voice following him, but not talking to him. He continued his calculations intently. When he was done, he checked it carefully, then turned back towards the front door again.

"Charlie, what are you doing?"

Math done, he was able to pay attention to the person in front of him without breaking focus. "Don, what are you doing here?"

"Dad called, he said you were scaring him. Why did you go outside? He said they had to drag you back in."

"I needed to see the trees," Charlie said. "Come with me, Don."

"Come where?"

"The porch," Charlie said grabbing him by the arm and trying to drag him. "Come on."

"What are we doing, Charlie?" Don asked, remaining immovable. "I don't like this. What's going on?"

"Come on, Don."

Don finally allowed himself to be pulled and Charlie took him out onto the porch. "There, that roof," he said, pointing. "There's a camera somewhere on the Owens' roof, probably near the rooftree. You've got to get a team out to check right away. They've seen us now, and if we give them any time, they'll move it."

Don blinked at him, then pulled out his phone. Charlie watched with satisfaction as his brother called Fogarty and passed on the news. "No, I don't think they'll need a warrant," Don said. "Old man Owens should be home, and I'm sure he'll give permission." He nodded, then hung up. "They'll be here in fifteen minutes at the most. Charlie, what made you think of that?"

"The timing was too exact," Charlie said. "If they were watching from one of the corners or something, they couldn't possibly always call at the exact time I hit the stairs."

"Let's go back inside," Don said.

"I want to watch them find it," Charlie protested. "I want the bastards to know it was me who found it." He waved in the direction of the camera with a 'hi mom' grin.

Don practically shoved him back inside. "Damn it, Charlie, what are you thinking? Are you trying to goad them into something?"

"What do you mean, Don?" Charlie demanded. "They've already tried to kidnap me twice. What would I be goading them into?"

"I don't know, maybe into hurting you when then have you."

Charlie's brain seized up, and he stared at Don. "When?" he repeated, feeling appalled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Don saw the horror in Charlie's eyes, heard the hollow tone of his voice, and shook his head. "If, Charlie!" he said hastily. "I meant if!"

Charlie shook his head, and he stumbled over a few words that led nowhere, then he turned around and ran up the stairs. Don started to follow him, but his father came out of the kitchen. "What's wrong, Donnie?"

Don grimaced unhappily. "I said something really dumb."

"What'd you say?"

"I . . ." He shook his head. "I told him he shouldn't anger these guys, and he asked why."

"And you told him, right?"

"I said . . ." Don bit his lip. "I said they might hurt him when they get him."

"If, Donnie, not when. If."

"Exactly," Don said, rubbing his face and wishing he could take it back. "But it's a real issue, Dad. They obviously need him for something or they would have killed him already." His father blanched, but Don couldn't let up. "If they do get him, he needs to play along, be likable and not piss them off."

"You do remember this is Charlie we're talking about here. He's not always very cooperative when he doesn't like the people he's dealing with."

Don shook his head. "The more they like him, the longer we'll have to find them."

"God, Don, I . . . that's a terrible thought." Don watched his father absorb the information, then he looked up. "They won't get him, though, will they?" When Don didn't answer immediately, he pressed. "Donnie? They won't."

Don looked away, scowling. "They came awful damn close this last time, Dad. They're determined, and they're good. I haven't told Charlie this yet because I only found out today, but one of them was definitely shot and he lost a lot of blood. According to Shafer, he shot him in the head, so we think he's probably dead, that he was dead on site. And they bundled him up and took him away, which means they want to leave as little evidence of themselves as possible."

"That's alarming. What could a dead body tell us?"

"We don't know, Dad. They took it with them so we wouldn't find out."

"Oh, right." He blinked a few times. "Don, how serious is this? I mean, I know it's serious, but . . ."

Don swallowed convulsively. He didn't like the idea of giving this kind of news to his father. "Dad, they nearly got him both times. Both times it was chance that deprived them of their superior position."

"Not just chance the second time. He had the guards."

"Who wouldn't have been nearly as useful if they'd been surprised between the getaway van and the car."

"Who is it?" his father asked, but he waved Don to silence when he started to respond. "Yes, I know, if you knew that we'd be having a different conversation. What I mean is, who would be doing things like taking the dead body away with them?"

Don grimaced. "Governments, terrorists . . ." He hated the appalled look that brought to his father's face. "People who tend to think things through carefully before they start them. The fact that we're succeeding in stopping them is probably already pissing them off."

His father opened his mouth as though to respond, but he didn't seem to be able to speak. After a lengthy pause, he closed his mouth again, shaking his head with a blank expression. "I need to finish getting . . ." He glanced up the stairs. "Maybe I can find something Charlie will actually eat." He headed into the kitchen, and Don looked at the stairs, uncertain whether he should follow Charlie or let his brother have some time alone with his thoughts.

He realized after a few moments that he was dithering and took out his spleen on the day's accumulation of small messes. He had just decided to go check on Charlie when there was a knock on the door. Don went to get it, but he reached the door just as his father opened it. Fogarty was there, outside, holding a plastic baggy with something that looked like a bit of shingle inside it. They stepped back to let him in. "How did you know?" he demanded as he entered. "How did you know it was there?"

"It was Charlie," Don said. "He deduced its existence."

"Deduced?" Fogarty exclaimed. "How do you deduce something like this?"

Don raised his eyebrows, and put a hand out to stop his father from exploding. "That's what Charlie does, Mike. You know he works for the bureau, and he deduces things with his math that no one would ever think of."

"I looked at those rooftops with binoculars," Fogarty said. "I didn't see any sign of anything."

Don shook his head. "Follow me." He led him into the solarium and gestured at the math on the windows. "This is what Charlie was doing when I got home, then he took me out onto the porch and said it had to be on the Owens' roof. It's math, angles of view, line of sight or whatever."

Fogarty stared at the math, then sank into a chair. "You're not going to like this, Don," he said.

"I already don't like it, Mike," Don said. "What?"

"Conservative estimates indicate that this thing has been there for six months." Don blinked. "And about seven months ago, Mr. Owens had his roof patched, so we think it may have been done then."

"Why wait so long?" his father asked.

"Planning, Dad," Don said, his voice tense with the effort to control himself. "I told you. These people really thought this through." He felt the anger coiling in his gut and suddenly it was too much to hold back. "Son of a bitch!" He looked up the stairs again. "And I have to tell Charlie that."

"Don, we'll find them," Fogarty said. "We'll put a stop to this."

"I've got to go talk to Charlie," Don said. "Excuse me." He left Fogarty with his dad and went upstairs. He knocked on Charlie's door as he opened it and found his brother standing in front of his wide open window, staring out. "What are you doing?" he asked, more than a little alarmed.

"Contemplating paper airplanes," Charlie said. "A handy way of passing notes without drawing attention to the note."

"Who do you want to pass notes to?" Don asked.

"My would-be kidnappers," Charlie replied. "I want to open a correspondence and figure out what it is they want."

"No!" Don said, more loudly than he'd meant to, and Charlie turned surprised eyes on him. "Absolutely not."

"Don't you think it would benefit us to learn more about them?" Charlie asked with deceptive meekness.

"Yes, Charlie, of course, but that doesn't mean sticking your neck out."

"Actually, I would be sticking a piece of paper out, not my neck," Charlie pointed out with a level of sarcasm that made Don want to wring his neck.

"Charlie, you are absolutely not to try and make contact with these people!" Don ordered, and he saw Charlie's eyes widen. "I forbid it. It's crazy and stupid and dangerous, and I won't have it!"

"You're not my father!" Charlie exclaimed defensively. "And I'm an adult. You don't have the right to tell me what to do."

"No, I'm your brother, and I'm looking out for you!" Don shouted. "And do you want me to go downstairs and tell Dad about your idea?"

Charlie looked away. "No," he said reluctantly.

Don put his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Seriously, Charlie, I'm not just being your older brother. As an FBI agent, I think this is a really bad idea."

"Don, I can't just sit here and do nothing," Charlie said.

Don squeezed his shoulders, then dropped his hands. "You found that camera, Charlie, that's not nothing."

"Did they find it?"

Don nodded, and now he had to tell him. "It was disguised in a roof tile. They think it's been up there since Mr. Owens had his roof patched."

"But that's got to be . . ." Charlie's eyes widened, but this time he didn't look angry, he looked petrified. "Don, they've been watching the house for months?"

"Looks like it," Don said. "Just waiting for a chance."

Charlie stared at him for a long moment. "If they've put, what, six, seven months into this, they're not going to give up until they get me, are they?"

Don controlled his anger. "They will if we stop them first."

"But how likely is that really, Don?" Charlie asked. "They know what they're doing." He grimaced. "You said 'when.' Was that just a poor choice of words, or was it what you really think?"

"Charlie –"

"Don, if they get hold of me, you're not going to stop looking for me, are you?"

"Not ever," Don said. "Nothing would stop me."

"You wouldn't just leave it to Fogarty?"

"Hell no, and I don't think Colby or Megan would either."

"And David's officially assigned to the case."

"Right."

Charlie closed his eyes. "Don't you need to get back to work and catch other bad guys?"

"Are you going to scare Dad again?"

"I didn't mean to scare him this time," Charlie said. "I just got absorbed."

"Okay, you sure you're okay with me leaving?"

"Of course," Charlie said, and Don could see he was full of shit.

"I don't have to go."

"Yes, you do," Charlie said. "I'll just . . ." He shivered. "I've got work I can do."

"Charlie, I –"

"Don, I'm a grown man. I can spend a few hours without my big brother to hold my hand. Go."

Charlie was vehement, so Don went. He told his dad to be sure and call him if anything else seemed odd, and went back to the office. "Anything new?" he asked Megan.

"Not much," she said. "How's Charlie?"

"Freaked out, but he located the way they've been knowing when to call the house." She raised her eyebrows. "A camera hidden in the shingles of a roof across the street."

"Wow, how'd he find that?"

"Math," Don said, bringing his computer back to life. Almost as soon as his e-mail came up, the chime that told him he'd just gotten a message began to go off repeatedly. His inbox was filling rapidly and it looked like it was all the same message. "A Tip for You," it said in the subject line.

"What's that?" Megan asked. "A virus?"

"Maybe," Don said. He picked up his phone and called the tech guys. He went and worked on David's computer while Agent Marilyn Dubois quarantined his machine and began dinking with it.

Finally, she said, "Well, there is a virus involved, but it's not on your machine." Don got up and walked over. "All these e-mails come from different accounts. I'm thinking that the virus hacked these accounts to make the origin harder to trace."

"Okay, but what's the e-mail?"

"There's a small video file and a message."

"But no virus?"

"I'm not detecting anything, but the machine is quarantined, so we can find out." She reached out and double clicked the e-mail before Don could respond. It opened up and Don read it.

_Agent Eppes,_

_We will get him eventually. The more you struggle against it, the more likely it is that he'll be hurt in the process. Nobody wants that, right?_

_Your brother's keepers_

He'd been bending over Agent Dubois' shoulder. Fury jerked him straight. "Son of a bitch! I'll kill the bastards. God damned fucking pricks!"

"Do you want to see the video?" Dubois asked in a small voice. Don bent again, dimly aware that he'd collected quite an audience. She played the video and Don wanted to strangle his brother for being such a smart ass. It was some of the last video that camera had transmitted, no doubt, of Charlie smiling and waving. He was looking almost straight into the lens.

"Get Fogarty over here now!" Don snapped to one of the people who'd gathered to stare at him.

"Crap," Megan said. She was gazing at the screen where Charlie still waved and grinned like an idiot, on a constant loop. Don ran his fingers through his hair, rage coursing through him. Megan stood up and put a hand on his arm. "Don, calm down."

Don glared at her. "Calm –"

"Yes!" she snapped quietly. "You're not going to do anyone any good like this, least of all Charlie."

"They're threatening to hurt him now," Don said.

"They were always threatening to hurt him," Megan said. "They're just trying to shift the blame to you. Don't let them."

Don clenched his teeth together and strove to regain his self control. Fogarty strode up with David close behind him, and Don gestured towards his computer. "I got an e-mail," he said flatly.

They walked over and looked. "Holy cow," Fogarty said after reading and watching it. David gave Don a look that said 'oh shit' louder than words. "When's this video from?"

"That's just after Charlie showed me which house we should look at for the camera," Don said. "I'd just hung up with you. That's my shoulder you can see in the shot."

"Is he trying to goad them?" Fogarty asked.

"He's under a lot of stress!" Don said defensively. Megan squeezed his arm as Fogarty's expression went politely bland. "I know," he muttered. "I said the same thing to him. He wants to try and communicate with them."

"Is he crazy?" David asked.

"He's frustrated," Don replied. "He's under siege in that house."

"I need to let Deputy Director Wright know about this," Fogarty said with a sigh. "David, I'll see you later."

Don watched him go and controlled an urge to slam his fist into a wall. "Agent Eppes, I'm going to have to take your box with me so I can get the evidence off it," Dubois said, walking up with the CPU already in hand. "I'll have IT send you another one."

"Thanks," Don said absently. "Charlie is really not going to like this."

"Who would?" Megan said bluntly.

Wright came out with Fogarty close behind him. "Where's this e-mail?"

"Dubois took the CPU," Don said.

"Okay." Wright pursed his lips and glanced around at the people who had gathered. Most of them found other tasks to be doing. "Eppes, Fogarty, Sinclair and Reeves?" he said, then led the way into the conference room. "All right. I'm in the process of arranging for a safe house, but in the meantime, I want Dr. Eppes in a more defensible – and unexpected – location." Forgarty nodded. "I don't think he's going to like it, so Eppes, I want you to go with the team that's taking him there."

"Now?" Don asked.

"Yes, right away," the assistant director said. "This is all getting a little too close."

Don nodded. "Sounds good to me. Megan, come with." She nodded and grabbed her purse.

"I'm sending his guards with him, and they'll have to stay, too. It wouldn't do to have them going in and out, making a target of the place. I'll let them know."

"Where are we taking him?" Don asked.

"Joe Klein's place is still empty and on the market. I have keys and permission to use it at will. You know where that is?"

"Out on the coast, isn't it?"

"Here's the address. I've been thinking we should move him ever since yesterday's attack. This just makes it imperative."

Don and Megan headed out to his car. "Why don't I drive?" she suggested. "You're a little upset."

Don started to protest, but he closed his teeth on it and got in on the passenger side, passing the keys to her. It wasn't a long trip, so Don concentrated on marshalling his arguments to get Charlie moving out of the house.

He found his brother cleaning the solarium windows. "Hey Chuck."

Charlie whirled, alarm writ large on his face. "Don, what are you doing home? Has something else happened?"

Don hadn't really considered that his return home so soon after leaving would alarm Charlie. He hadn't seen his father yet, but he would no doubt be worried as well, and with reason. "Yeah, Charlie, something has. I got an e-mail at work, threatening you. Deputy Director Wright wants to put you in a safe house."

"A safe house?" Charlie repeated. "But . . . that would mean stopping work, going God knows where . . . I don't want to do that, Don."

"I know, Chuck, but I think you really need to," Don said persuasively. He saw Megan coming into the room with his father. He looked distressed but resigned, so Don knew she'd explained things to him.

Charlie shook his head. "I don't want to uproot myself from my life and go into hiding like a frightened animal," he exclaimed. "I don't want to –"

All of Don's reasoned and dispassionate arguments went out the window in a sudden burst of anger and fear. "And I don't want to lose my brother!" Don yelled. Charlie froze again, but this time Don couldn't afford for him to run upstairs to avoid the confrontation. Don grabbed his shoulders. "Charlie, I know you don't want to do this, and I know it's not fair, but damn it! It's the only thing we can think of to help keep you safe until we find these guys."

Charlie gulped. "What was in the e-mail?"

Don grimaced. "They just said they were going to get you anyway, so fighting them was just putting you at risk. Oh, and they included video of your stunt on the porch."

Charlie blinked. "Okay, so you were right about that."

"And I'm right about this too, Chuck. Let's get some of your things together and get you gone."

Charlie nodded dumbly, and Don went with him up to his room. He glanced over at Dad, who nodded and went to the bathroom. Don hated the lost look on Charlie's face as he gathered up some clothes and stuffed them into a duffle. He shouldered the bag and headed downstairs to pack up his laptop.

"No, Charlie," Megan said. "If they have the code to the GPS chip in there, they can trace you to it. We'll have someone get the data off it and get you a new one."

His brother looked absurdly naked as they headed out of the house. He hadn't seen Charlie without his laptop in years. Don got into the car with Charlie and his current trio of guards, leaving Megan to ferry the second team.

Charlie was silent on the trip, clutching the duffle to his chest. For Charlie, three hours of silence was a little unusual to say the least, but Don wasn't sure what to say either. He just tried to be a rock of support. They reached the house on the coast. It was a three-story Victorian right out on a bluff. They got out and Charlie looked up at the place. "All it needs is thunderheads and a stormy sea to complete the Gothic atmosphere," Charlie said dryly.

"It's not so bad," Don replied, and Charlie gave him a sour look. "Okay, fine. This is only for a couple of days. Deputy Director Wright is arranging a more permanent location, but –"

"Permanent?" Charlie repeated, eyes widening with dismay. "Don, I don't –"

"Not permanent," Don said hastily. "Just something long-term." He could see that long-term wasn't any better to Charlie's mind. "It's not for long, just till we catch these guys."

"What if you don't?" Charlie asked. "I can't hide forever."

"We'll catch them, Charlie. Don't you worry about that."

"Are you coming in?"

"I have to go back to work, Chuck," Don said regretfully.

"Right, of course." Charlie looked towards the house. "Then I'll be seeing you."

"I'll call, buddy, don't worry."

"Is that a good idea?" Charlie asked. "What if they can trace it?"

"There are such things as secured lines, bud," Don said, giving him a cuff on the shoulder. "I'll be in touch."

"We'll be in touch," Megan said, giving Don a disgusted look as she gave Charlie a tight hug. "Take care, Charlie."

"Thanks, Megan." Charlie nodded to Don and turned towards the house. Some of his guards had already gone to the door and opened it, others formed up around him. Don watched him go for a minute, but then turned away. He didn't need to watch so close. It wasn't like he was never going to see his brother again.

"Come on, Megan," he said, heading towards his car. "We have work to do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Megan didn't object when Don took the wheel on the way back to the city. It seemed like he'd calmed down a lot on the drive up. Probably he'd had to, to keep Charlie on an even keel. "He'll be fine, Don," she said after awhile.

"I know," he said shortly, but he didn't say anything else, killing the conversational gambit dead.

She waited another while, then said, "Did he say much on the way up?"

"What was there for him to say?" Don asked. She rolled her eyes. Why did they have to be such _men_? She gave up on Don and concentrated on the case, or as little of it as she was involved with. Colby was making something like progress, but she couldn't even be sure that he was moving in the right direction. The evidence was spotty. All they knew for certain was that they had one guy with A negative blood, and one with B positive, and the guy with B positive blood was almost certainly dead.

"When do you expect to hear from Colby again?"

She looked at her watch. "I should have heard from him an hour ago, but we've been on the road."

"Did he leave a voice mail?"

"Nothing," she said. "But you know how it can be when you're in the field."

"Did you pass on Fogarty's message?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"He said 'I'll keep it in mind.'"

"Which means 'I'll ignore it as soon as we've hung up.'"

"Pretty much."

"Great."

Back at the office, they went through the motions of the cases they had on their desks. She knew Don was distracted, and she wasn't precisely on her game either. Fortunately the cases they had in front of them weren't overwhelmingly complex. Of course, that might be design on the part of the assistant director. It would be sensible under the circumstances. Not only was Don's brother the center of a kidnapping plot, but the team was down two agents.

After work, she went to dinner with Larry, who was understandably concerned about Charlie's situation. As the evening drew towards night, she began to worry in earnest that she hadn't heard from Colby, but there was no reason to think anything untoward had happened to him. Feeling more than a little paranoid, she called his cell phone. It rang straight through to voice mail, so she hung up without leaving a message. It didn't mean anything, and he hadn't been out of contact long enough to justify any action.

She parted from Larry and went to bed worrying about Charlie and Colby and Don. If this stretched on much longer, she was going to have to lay in a supply of antacids.

* * *

Charlie was amused. They had not provided him with a chalkboard, nor a whiteboard. They had, however, provided him with a number of huge easel pads, two very sturdy easels, a quantity of pushpins, and Sharpies in a wide variety of colors.

He set up the easels and put a pad on each of them, then stood back, contemplating. He didn't have anything in mind right now. All he had was a sense of impending doom. He didn't even have sufficient information about the course of the investigation to get anywhere with calculations.

Don called just after nine. One of the guards had a secure cell phone, and Don had borrowed one. Charlie really didn't know what to say to his brother, nor did Don seem to have much to say himself. Before the conversation foundered completely, Charlie thought of something that would help keep him from going nuts. "Have they sent the laptop yet?" he asked.

"Not yet, I think it's due to go out in the morning."

"Can you have someone load all the information about the investigation so far on it? That way I can do some mathematical modeling."

"I'll see what I can do, Chuck, but I don't know how Fogarty will like it."

"Tell him he could save me from kidnapping only have me go stark raving crazy," Charlie said, and he was only half-joking.

Don half-laughed. "I'll tell him, Chuck. Take care."

"You too. I'm in a safe house, so I think you're in more danger than me."

"Very funny," Don said.

"Tell Dad I said hi."

"Sure. Talk to you later, buddy."

Charlie hung up and gave Tutwiler his phone back. He headed upstairs to his room and began modeling what he already knew on the easel pads.

* * *

Don went in early so he could catch Fogarty before they sent the laptop on. "Hey, Mike, Charlie asked me for a favor. He wants all the information on the investigation so far so he can do some modeling." He'd really expected Fogarty to cut him off with a sharp negative before he even finished the question, but Fogarty surprised him.

"More of that math stuff?" Don nodded, and Fogarty turned. "David, get that laptop they're sending out for Dr. Eppes and load it up with everything we have."

"Sure," David said with a grin.

Fogarty turned back to Don, and he must have seen the surprise on Don's face, because he shook his head with a self-deprecating snort. "At the moment, I'll take whatever help I can get."

Don blinked. "Is it that bad?"

"It's not great, and we've lost Megan's little bird."

"Colby hasn't called?"

"I haven't heard that he has, and I know Megan's in already this morning."

"Okay, well, thanks." He headed back over to his own nest of cubicles, where he found Megan in the midst of a phone call. "Anything?" he asked when she hung up.

"Colby's stuff is still in the motel room where he's been staying, but Colby hasn't shown up since lunchtime yesterday."

"Maybe he's just got a hot lead and no coverage," Don suggested, but it made him nervous.

"I hope so, but the longer he's out of contact, the more worried I get."

"Well, Fogarty's sending Charlie everything we've got, so he'll be able to do some modeling. Maybe he can help us with Colby, too."

* * *

Charlie wondered what the newer bodyguards made of him in math mode. He did know that someone kept bringing him sandwiches and forcing them into his free hand. Using organizational modeling, Charlie was trying to make something out of nothing. He knew they had some kind of contact at the roofers, which gave them at least one person they should be able to identify, and from one person, a conspiracy could, with a little luck and a lot of work, be broken.

Partway through Thursday, he got a call from David filling in more information about the roofers. There were at least two guys who had left shortly after the Owens' job, one of whom had dropped completely off the map, the other of whom was now dead of an accident. He fell off a roof.

Charlie incorporated all the information they had on both these guys into his calculations, calling David periodically throughout the day to ask questions and get further information.

He came out of his math fugue around seven and went downstairs to the kitchen where four of his bodyguards were gathered. "Hey," he said, and sank into a chair. "Who do I have to thank for the fact that I'm not grindingly hungry?"

Miller raised his hand looking a little embarrassed. "Corelli said you tend to get so focused that you miss meals entirely."

"Where is Corelli?" Charlie asked.

"Outside, patrolling," Miller said. He stood up. "Anyone else want to watch a movie before we hit the sack?"

"What?" Perez asked.

"Resident Evil?"

Perez and Tam were agreeable, and Charlie bit his lip, feeling awkward. "You guys mind if I join you?"

"Nope, it's a private club," Perez said, and Charlie stopped dead, startled. Perez laughed and clapped his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Man, Dr. Eppes, can't you tell when someone's kidding with you?" Charlie shrugged and muttered uncomfortably. Still laughing, Perez drew him on into the living room of the house.

He spent a very pleasant evening with the off duty guard team. When they went to bed, he headed back upstairs and looked at his math. It looked reasonable, but he needed to get some more information from David in the morning.

Don hadn't called tonight, but Charlie wouldn't have had much to say to him anyway.

* * *

On Friday morning, they still hadn't heard from Colby. Don was frankly worried, but they knew so little about what he was up to that it was hard to know what to do. Sending the county mounties looking for him prematurely could endanger his operation. Or get him in trouble for an unofficial, possibly quasi-legal operation. Don didn't want to risk that. Not yet.

If Colby didn't have a damned good excuse when he turned up, Don was going to strangle him.

He was aware all morning of Charlie calling to pump David for information about his case, and it felt very weird to know that Charlie was calling the office but not talking to him. It was good to know he was working, though. Charlie was always happiest when he was working, and if he was asking David for information, he hadn't gone P vs. NP.

At ten thirty-seven, he got a call that shifted a case from warm to red hot. He'd have to check back in with David when they came back from their crime scene and see how Charlie was.

Damn it, why hadn't Colby called?

* * *

Around eleven, Miller walked into Charlie's room. Charlie hadn't quite gone into math fugue today. He'd had to keep calling David, which pulled him out, but he hadn't needed to submerge quite so much in the calculations, either. Now he was checking his figures, because the conclusion that seemed to be emerging could complicate matters in a way he hadn't anticipated.

He turned when Miller came in and raised his eyebrows. "What, no sandwich?"

Miller looked at him appraisingly. "You seem to be on this planet today, Dr. E.," he said with a grin. "I think you can handle your own meals."

"You may be right," Charlie replied, grinning back.

Miller nodded towards the easel. "Anything interesting?"

Charlie glanced at the pads of paper, and the pages he'd pinned to the walls. "I'm not certain enough of my conclusions to say for sure," he said. He might have told Don, but however much he was coming to like Miller and the others, he didn't know that he could trust them with untested conclusions. Especially ones that potentially explosive.

"But you do have something?" Miller asked, looking around at all the papers.

"I think so." Charlie stepped towards the easel, gazing intently at a chain of reasoning he thought might need tightening.

"Well, avoid getting overly absorbed if you can," Miller advised.

Charlie blinked and turned back towards him. "Why?"

"We're moving out between one and two."

"Oh." Charlie stood still for a moment, absorbing that information. "Um . . . will these be coming with us?" he asked, gesturing at the pads and easels.

"No, so anything you want to keep, you'd better pack up and take with you." Charlie nodded, and Miller headed back downstairs to patrol.

Charlie tried to get back to work, but he found he couldn't focus. Thoughts of long-term safe houses and men with guns pointing them at people he cared about kept popping up. Even though the work he was doing should theoretically help alleviate the problem, he couldn't push the sense of being out of control of his own life away long enough to concentrate. Finally, he just started pulling the pages down off the walls and peeled the last two off the easels. He folded them carefully and tucked them neatly into the side pocket of the laptop case. He packed up the computer, then he started shoving his clothes back into the duffle.

Picking up the two bags, he went down to the kitchen where he found all the off duty guards making lunch. When he entered the room, Tutwiler started to take the bags from him so he could take them out to the car. Charlie let him have the clothes, but he kept the computer with him. One never knew when inspiration might strike. Setting it to the side, he started helping with lunch, making sandwiches for the road.

When it was time to go, Charlie shouldered the laptop bag. Its strap didn't have enough give to loop around his neck, so it didn't feel as secure, but it wasn't like he was riding a bike. Corelli went out the door first, Charlie second, then Tutwiler, followed by Leider. Perez was already by the car, and Charlie wasn't sure where the others were. He wound up surrounded, with a guard on each side and one lagging a yard or so behind. It felt very crowded, but he just grit his teeth and walked on down the front walk towards the car. They meant well, and he should be able to put up with –

A sharp report interrupted his thought, and Charlie felt a fine spray hit his face, like the mist from a sprinkler. He turned towards it, nose full of the scent of burned flesh. Corelli had turned around and was scanning the landscape in the direction the shot had come from, and Charlie felt Tutwiler's hands grabbing at him to pull him down. Another report split the air, and Corelli fell. Tutwiler dragged Charlie down to a crouch and started pulling him along. The agent was speaking, but his words simply bounced off Charlie's shock. A loud roaring sound, like an engine revving filled his ears, and then he heard the squealing of tires as a vehicle screeched to a halt.

More voices and running feet. Charlie stayed with Tutwiler, but he hardly had any choice. He realized that he'd heard several more gunshots and wondered if they'd found targets. His mind hadn't stopped calculating, and he knew there had to be a sniper somewhere, but several gunshots much closer at hand drew his attention.

He heard the thud of a body a few feet away, but a second later, Charlie fell over as Tutwiler dropped to the ground. His hands slipped off Charlie till he was clutching only the laptop bag, eyes wide with shock and pain. The barrel of a gun entered Charlie's vision and it fired. Charlie's mind went blank until hands grabbed at him again. This time Charlie fought back, hitting and kicking and shoving, but he had no skill. He felt a familiar burning sensation on the side of his neck, and his movements grew even less coordinated. He felt himself picked up and carried a short distance before he was deposited on a soft surface and strapped down. Desperate, Charlie clung to consciousness until it failed him altogether.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Don shook his head, watching Evidence Response comb over the scene. "What do you think it means?" he asked.

"I'm really not sure, but –" Her phone had begun ringing as she spoke, and when she saw who was on the line, she broke off. "Just a minute, Don," she said and moved away.

He started towards one of the strange little symbolic piles, but a sedan pulled up. He was expecting an expert on North American cults, so he paused to see if it was her. Agent Armstrong got out on the passenger side, and he turned back towards his scene. He squatted down to look at the nearest little stack. A moment later, Megan tapped him on the shoulder. "We have to go," she said quietly.

"What? We're in the middle of –"

"Armstrong's team will be taking over. We've been called back to the office."

Don stood up and stared at her, his heart suddenly beating very hard. "Charlie?"

"I don't know," she said. "He didn't say. We just have to get back to the office immediately."

Don nodded. He managed somehow to bring Armstrong up to speed. Before he quite knew what was happening, Megan had taken his keys and maneuvered him into the passenger seat. Don opened his phone and called David. No answer. When he reached voice mail, he hit end with a curse.

"Who were you calling?" Megan asked mildly.

"David."

"He may be out of range," she said, but he was already dialing Fogarty's number. No answer there either.

"We'll be there in a minute, Don," Megan said. "Getting worked up before we know what's up won't –"

"You know as well I do that there's only two reasons for them not to say outright what's going on," he said harshly. Megan pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. "Either someone's dead or those bastards have Charlie."

She didn't reply for a long moment. They passed a couple of trucks and got through a light on the barest hint of yellow. Megan sighed. "I know."

They were silent the rest of the way in. Any last lingering hopes that disaster hadn't struck were demolished when they were met at the elevator by Deputy Director Wright. He ushered them into his office and closed the door.

"We lost contact with Dr. Eppes' detail about forty minutes ago. We sent the locals in for a look, and . . . three are dead, two have been choppered out and one of them . . . I'm not clear on what his injuries are. He's refusing treatment."

"And Charlie?"

Wright grimaced. "We're not sure. He's nowhere to be found."

"What about the guy who's still there, doesn't he know what happened?"

"He was just coming to when the sheriff's department arrived on the scene. He didn't see what happened."

Determination fired in Don's spirit abruptly. He snatched his keys from Megan's loose grip and started towards the door.

"Agent Eppes, where are you going?" Wright asked sharply.

"To the scene," Don said, pausing to look back.

"This is not your case," Wright pointed out. Don turned and headed towards the door again. "Agent Eppes!"

Don's hand was actually on the knob when he turned back again. "I am going," he said, glaring at the deputy director.

"I can't put you on this case, Eppes. It's a clear conflict of interests."

Don's hand tightened on the doorknob. "I'm going to the scene. You can't stop me unless you want to arrest me."

"Don!" Megan exclaimed as he started to go out. He paused, clenching his teeth. Megan took a deep breath. "Deputy Director Wright, I know it's against policy, but Don knows Charlie better than anyone else does, knows the way he'll react to things. That could be important here, because I guarantee you Charlie won't be sitting on his hands, waiting for rescue."

Don wasn't so sure of that, but her argument seemed to be carrying weight with Wright, so he kept his peace. Much longer, and he was leaving with or without permission.

Wright grimaced. "All right, Eppes, but Fogarty is in charge and Reeves goes with you."

Don nodded once and hurried out. He heard Wright tell Megan to keep him out of trouble, but they all knew that rules could and sometimes had to change in the field. He got to the car first and climbed into the driver's side. Megan opened the passenger door and leaned in. "Are you sure you –"

He turned tautly to her. "Are you coming or not?"

She closed her mouth and sat down, putting her seat belt on and closing the door without another word. Don drove with punctilious care through the city, then sped up on the highway. They traveled in silence. Don hoped devoutly that Charlie was okay. He couldn't believe this insane mess. He pulled up next to a couple of sheriff's cars. As soon as the car was off, he vaulted out and stalked to the crime scene tape and stopped to survey the scene.

The ranking sheriff's officer came up. "I'm Deputy Sheriff Nelson, Agent . . ."

"Agent Eppes," Don said. "Where's Agent Fogarty?"

"I – uh – " Nelson shook his head.

Megan walked up. "We passed him about ten miles back," she said. "I'm Agent Reeves."

"We disturbed the scene as little as possible," Nelson said. "Just got the boys that needed care out and let the others lie. It's a shame, but I figured you folks would want to see it all as we found it."

Don was about to duck under the crime scene tape when his phone rang. He grabbed it and looked at the readout, expecting Fogarty or David, but he didn't recognize the number. He flipped it open, hoping insanely that it was a ransom demand. At least then there would be some sort of contact, some trail to follow. Otherwise, the kidnappers had what they wanted and would drop out of sight completely. "Eppes," he said.

"Eppes, this is Edgerton."

Don froze for a second, startled by the unexpected voice. Then he shook his head. "Now is not the best time, I've –"

"I think I've found something you may have misplaced," Edgerton said, overriding Don's words.

"What?!"

"Can you tell me why Colby Granger is in a hospital in Barstow labeled as a John Doe? And why doesn't anyone know he's missing?"

Don blinked and dredged his brain back into motion. "Barstow? No. How is he?"

"He's been either delirious or unconscious for the last sixteen hours, or so I'm given to understand, but they think the fever's gone down enough that when he wakes up he may actually make sense."

"Charlie's been kidnapped," Don said tersely.

Edgerton was silent for a moment. "Say again?"

"Charlie's been kidnapped. He's gone, and we don't even know who has him." Don shook his head. "I –"

"How long's he been missing? Why haven't I heard?"

"About ninety minutes," Don said. "But we've been aware of the attempts to take him for a little over a week."

"People have been trying to kidnap the voodoo man for more than a week?" Edgerton exclaimed. "Then what on earth is Granger doing here?"

"He took some leave and was following some leads unofficially."

"Well, _unofficially_, he's gotten himself pretty thoroughly worked over, and he may have screwed three months of work for me. He somehow ran across the guy I've been looking for."

"You sure of that?"

"The guy's fingerprints are on Granger's jacket, and he seems to have left some blood behind."

"Is there any chance that he could be connected to Charlie's abduction?" Don asked urgently. He'd been aware of people around him, discussing the case, but that question brought silence.

"I don't see how. This guy's been on the run for . . ." Edgerton trailed off. "Do you know why they took Charlie?"

"No," Don said. "But they don't seem to want ransom, so we're assuming math."

"I don't know, I'd have to –" He paused. "They're telling me Granger's awake. I'll call back when I find out what he's got to say."

Don found himself holding a silent phone. He closed it and looked at the expectant faces. "Edgerton found Colby," he said.

"Edgerton?" Fogarty repeated at the same time as Megan and David asked how Colby was.

"Colby's been messed up pretty bad from what he says, and he had some kind of fever, but I guess he's conscious now, and not delirious, so Edgerton went to question him."

"What was Edgerton doing there?"

"You know, I'm a hell of a lot more interested in what went on here," Don said, holstering his phone and looking around. "What do we have, people?"

"Three dead agents," Fogarty said bluntly. "Corelli, Tutwiler and Tam." He gestured as he mentioned their names, and Don looked at the bodies. Two of them had fallen in the front lawn, on a path to the bureau sedan. Gazing at their bloody and mangled bodies, he realized that Charlie had most likely been between them when they were shot. In fact, Tutwiler appeared to be slumped over the laptop the bureau had sent out for Charlie. It looked like Tam had been standing beside the sedan when he'd been felled.

Don knew all three men to varying degrees, and he was aware that Fogarty had worked closely with all of them in the past. Right now, though, he couldn't divide his attention or allow himself to experience distress at their deaths. "Where's the man who survived the attack?"

"Perez?" Fogarty said. "He's over there. I've already talked to – Don!"

Don didn't even pause in his stride towards the front steps where Perez was sitting with his head in his hands. David caught his arm. "Don, go easy on him!" he hissed.

Don stopped dead and turned towards David. "What do you mean?"

"He just lost half his team, and there's no knowing if the other two will live through the night."

"I know," Don said. He shrugged David's hand off his arm and continued towards Perez. He thumped down on the step next to him. "Hey, can you tell me what happened?"

Perez looked up. "God, Agent Eppes, I'm so sorry."

"Damn it, he's not dead!" Don exclaimed. "Don't be sorry, be helpful."

Perez nodded, straightening slightly. "Right, um . . . there was a sniper, somewhere that way, I think." He gestured to the headland to the south. "I was over by the other car," he said, nodding towards the second sedan. "When I heard the first shot, I took off towards Dr. Eppes to help Jake with him. I saw Corelli fall and then I felt something hit me in the shoulder. It knocked me over, and I hit my head on one of the paving stones. Next thing I knew, the sheriff was here."

Don sighed, trying not to blame this man for what was beyond his control. "Okay . . . you should get to the hospital."

"I couldn't leave until I'd told you guys what I saw." He turned to Don. "I wish I could tell you more, sir, I was worse than useless, but –"

Don shook his head. "You did your best. Some things just can't be helped." He stood up. "Is there an ambulance coming?"

"On its way," Nelson said.

"What the hell happened here?" Don asked.

"Well, clearly, the sniper took at least two or three of the guards out before the main body of the kidnappers arrived on scene," Fogarty said. "I'm thinking that Corelli and Tutwiler were flanking Dr. Eppes, with Leider behind them." He gestured at a placard on a bloody stretch of grass. Obviously, Tam was waiting by the car, and Miller appears to have been in the road, watching for approaching cars." There was another placard on a bloody patch of asphalt.

They could hear the ambulance wailing for a few minutes before it arrived, but Don ignored it. He started to say something, but Megan grabbed his arm. "Don, I think you need to take a step back. You're not thinking clearly."

He let her pull him backwards, and he wound up sitting on the porch steps, watching David and Fogarty map out the scene. Charlie had been in the middle of this when it went down. Don remembered clearly how completely freaked Charlie had been by the relatively bloodless rampage through the bullpen. Now three men he'd been living with for days had been killed in front of him, and two might die in the next few hours. How was he going to come back from this?

Once Megan was certain he was going to stay where she'd put him, she went and offered her services to Fogarty. Don's phone rang again, and he answered it. "Eppes."

"Looks like our cases cross," Edgerton said without preamble. "I can't believe that my guy is directly involved, but apparently he's in contact with people who are."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Granger seems to think so. Look, I'm bringing him back to LA before he has a coronary."

"Is he well enough to be moved?"

"I think they're glad to be rid of him. Colby Granger, delirious and back in Afghanistan, doesn't sound like someone I want around, either."

"Whoa," Don said. "Okay, look, Agent Fogarty's in charge of this case, but . . . hang on for a second." He muted his phone and looked up. "Fogarty?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like a sniper expert?"

Fogarty stared at him for a moment. "You have one on call?"

"I have one on the phone," he said. "He's the guy who found Colby."

"Oh, um . . . he's available?"

"The cases appear to cross," Don said. "According to Colby, his guy knows our guys."

"Then definitely," Fogarty said. "How soon can he get here?"

Don got back on the phone and got Edgerton moving. Then he put his face in his hands. This was going to kill Dad, and it probably wouldn't have happened if Don hadn't let Charlie help out with FBI cases. He'd gained so much notoriety since then, and it wasn't as if he hadn't been famous to begin with. Charlie Eppes, the brilliant math prodigy. Don had always been responsible for him, and now he'd let everyone down spectacularly.

A sudden thought occurred to him. He stood up and went into the house, looking for Charlie's room. He recognized it by the presence of easel pads and Sharpies, but apart from the spots where Charlie's pen had rested on the page above long enough to bleed through, there was no sign of the work. He ran back downstairs. "Charlie was working on something for the case. Is there any sign of it? He didn't leave it upstairs."

"Maybe there's something on his laptop," Megan said. "Are we okay to move the bodies yet, Mike?"

Fogarty nodded. "Go ahead."

She rolled Tutwiler over gingerly and unzipped the bag. She pulled the laptop out and opened it. "The screen's cracked," she said. Closing it again, she put it on the ground and started searching the bag.

"Let's hope he didn't have it in his pocket," David said. "He seemed to think he was getting somewhere the last time I talked to him, and it wouldn't be good for whoever this is to figure out what he was doing."

Don wished David hadn't said that out loud. Images flooded his mind of angry men demanding who Charlie might have told.

"I don't think that's a problem," Megan said, standing up with a thick wad of paper in her hand. She unfolded it. "For one thing, if they had found this, God knows if they'd have been able to make anything of it."

Don ran across to stare at his brother's writing and realized that it was him now who was acting like Charlie was dead. He was going to go nuts.

"Don, take a deep breath," Megan said quietly. "Go back and sit down. You really shouldn't be here, but let's not make it obvious."

A lot startled but becoming aware of just how right she was, Don walked over and sat down again. He had to get a hold of himself. There wasn't a damned thing he could do if he was flipped out, and everything about this scene flipped him out, down to the blood that edged Charlie's papers.

When Edgerton's car rolled to a stop, Don realized that he'd been sitting still for at least two hours. He had to get up, so he met Edgerton at the edge of the crime scene. "Where'd you leave Colby?" he asked.

"In the passenger seat," Edgerton said, nodding towards the car. Don looked over and saw the bandaged face of his missing agent.

Fogarty walked up and Don made the introductions. Then he left them to it and joined Megan at the car. "You gave us something of a scare," she was saying.

"Not my intention, I assure you," Colby said. "I can't believe they thought a few punches and a wetting would kill me."

"Looks like more than a few punches to me," Megan said.

"Okay, so there might have been a couple kicks, too, but I'm fine. I'll be up and around in no time. In fact, I should be helping you guys out."

"I don't think so," Megan said. She glanced over at Don. "Actually, could you two excuse me for a minute?"

"Sure," Don said. She walked away, and Don leaned on the driver's side window ledge. "What did you find out?"

"Not enough," Colby said, and Don closed his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The first thing Charlie became aware of was a steady vibration of the surface beneath him. He couldn't figure out where he was. No place he normally slept in would have this much vibration, and a car wouldn't be this steady even with the best shocks. His head ached abominably, and his mouth felt like he'd been chewing cotton balls. He started to reach up and rub his eyes, but he found he couldn't move his arm more than a few inches. Straps bound his arms down to his sides and his legs were similarly restrained.

Realization came so suddenly that it almost hurt. He opened his eyes and blinked at the darkness. He couldn't remember anything past lunch, but he knew what must have happened. There was no way the FBI was transporting him like this, and his neck felt burned in a new spot, which suggested another drug patch. He didn't feel loopy, just kind of disconnected and slightly queasy.

"Hello?" he said. "Can anyone hear me?" He'd spoken relatively quietly, and there was no response. There was a vaguely dead quality to his tone, as well, as though the room's walls were sound proofed. "Hello!" he called loudly.

"There's no need to yell, Dr. Eppes," said a familiar voice from very nearby.

"You?" Charlie said. He could suddenly feel his heart beating, and his queasiness turned to active nausea. He'd known . . . but hearing that voice in such close proximity made it instantly very real. "You're the one who pointed a gun at my father."

"To good effect," the man said. "If Agent Reeves had not shown up at that moment, no one would have been hurt in any way."

"Are you actually blaming her?" Charlie demanded, straining against the straps. His captor was in the compartment with him, wherever they were. He could hear him breathing.

"Circumstance," the man said dismissively. "Besides, it was not her decision that brought her there, am I right? It was the whim of Dr. Fleinhardt. One cannot control the whimsy of genius."

"Why am I here?" Charlie asked. His headache was steadily getting worse, but he was damned if he was going to miss this chance to open a dialogue. "What do you want from me?"

"I have a number of tasks I would like you to accomplish," the man said. "Nothing too strenuous, certainly not at first."

Charlie wished he could see the man's face, though he suspected that had there been light, he would have been masked. "You know that's not going to happen, don't you?" Corelli, Miller and the others would not have let him be taken without a fight, so even though he couldn't remember anything, he knew for certain that this genteel sounding man and his cohorts had committed some form of mayhem on men Charlie knew and liked.

"I know you'll resist," the man said with chilling certainty. "I hope not for too long. I recognize the futility of using violence against you, but some of my colleagues might grow impatient."

Charlie stiffened, and his stomach twisted painfully. His mouth went even drier with fear. He knew that both statement and delivery were calculated for effect, but that rational understanding failed to counteract Charlie's visceral reactions. "You know, my brother is going to find me."

"I know he'll try, and I know he'll fail," the man said calmly.

Charlie shook his head and bit his lip. He wondered what was happening – what had happened. Where was Don now? Did his father know he was missing? He pulled at the straps. "Do you have a name?" he asked. "You have me at a disadvantage, here."

"You may call me Bill," the man said. "It's not my real name, and I won't be telling you my real name." He paused, then said, "I should also warn you that if you ever see my face, or the faces of any of my colleagues, you will have to die."

A shiver ran through Charlie's body at the matter of fact tone in his captor's voice. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, and his voice trembled slightly. He cleared his throat. "So, Bill, are you going to let me up?"

"Are you going to behave yourself, Dr. Eppes?"

"I'm not sure how you define that," Charlie said uneasily. There was a sudden change in the vibration, and Charlie had to swallow his gorge as his stomach threatened to reverse itself. He felt very dizzy and his nausea skyrocketed. The world seemed to be rocking back and forth at a . . . a boat. He was on a boat. For a moment Charlie thought he really was going to throw up as his stomach turned in dismay at the realization. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"I'm going to let you up in a few moments, Dr. Eppes," Bill said. "There are some rules. You must not attack me, you must not try to leave the room."

Charlie took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I understand," he said. "Are you going to turn on the lights?"

"Not yet. I'm not wearing my mask at the moment, and I'd prefer not to have to kill you." Charlie bit his lip. "Dr. Eppes, you must understand, we have the utmost respect for you, your work and your intellect. We've taken every effort to avoid harming you." Charlie heard movement in the room. "I'm going to release you now." He felt hands touching the straps over his legs as if preparing to loosen them, then Bill paused. "I should remind you that I am a well-trained soldier, and you are a scholar without any real physical training. If you do attack me, especially under the current circumstances, I will win and you will not enjoy losing. Forgive me if I alarm you, but I felt the point must be made."

"Great," Charlie said, and his voice came out at an embarrassingly high pitch. He cleared his throat and forced his voice level. "It's made."

"Good," Bill said soothingly. He began to undo the straps. There was one at Charlie's knees and another at his hips, and two more on his torso. When they were all undone, Charlie rolled away and onto his feet on the side opposite Bill.

"That's better," Charlie said, though he had to grab the gurney he'd been on to keep his balance. It was very disorienting to be dizzy in darkness. "Now look, Bill, I'm not going along with this. If you don't want me hurt, maybe you should convince your impatient colleagues that you should just let me go."

"You'll have to give me leave to try and persuade you, Dr. Eppes," Bill said. "The head is behind you. You should be able to feel the door. I'm going to leave you for awhile, now."

"What?" Charlie exclaimed. "But how long are you . . . where are we going?"

"There will be light when the door opens, Dr. Eppes. You might want to turn away."

Charlie heard the door unlatching, and he turned around, his back to his captor. Light flooded the room, revealing its smallness and nearly blinding Charlie. The door shut again, cutting off the light, and Charlie turned back. "Bill? Bill?" There was no answer, and Charlie leaned over the gurney, hands flat on the surface, staring down at the surface, though he couldn't see anything. The darkness was a ploy, he knew that, and he wasn't going to let it get to him.

No more than it had already.

* * *

Within twenty minutes of Edgerton's arrival, Don found himself driving the other agent's rented car and Colby back to LA. Colby snorted. "You do realize that we've been 'managed,' don't you, Don?"

Megan hadn't been exactly subtle in her efforts to get the two of the out of there, so Don knew exactly what Colby was talking about. Still, there were more important things going on than his second all but ordering him off a crime scene. "Yeah," he said. "But I don't give a fuck about anything but finding my brother." The road curved a lot, skirting the bluffs along the coast. Don drove automatically, trying not to think too hard about anything. There was too much emotional muck that he couldn't afford to get mired in.

"I'm right with you there," Colby replied. "Finding Charlie . . . damn it! I wish I'd been able to find out more before they sandbagged me."

"Me too, but anything you've found is more than we had before."

"Not enough more," Colby muttered. He shook his head. "So, how many of the guard detail died? Edgerton didn't know, but I saw at least one body while we were still there."

"Three," Don said, and it struck him suddenly that Charlie had been present while bullets were flying, probably from both sides. The odds of him getting hit were . . . well, he'd need Charlie to calculate them, but they had to be pretty good. If he'd been hit . . . Don's heart sped up. He couldn't be . . . Don's mind shied away from the word and he cast around for some reassuring idea. He didn't think they'd have taken him if he was dead.

"Don!" Colby yelled, and Don realized that he was going way too fast for the road. "You okay?" Colby asked, eyes wide as Don slowed down. "Maybe you'd better pull over."

Don nodded without saying anything. After a moment, they came to an overlook and Don pulled off the road. He got blindly out of the car and walked over to the fence, staring out at the ocean. A few moments later, he sensed Colby joining him.

Words broke forth without his intending them to. "What if he's dead?" He clenched his hands over the railing, his knuckles going white. "What if we never find him because they dumped him somewhere and –" He forced the words to stop, clamping his jaws tightly shut.

Colby cleared his throat. "We'll find him, Don," he said in a reassuring tone.

Don looked up at the sky and shook his head. "Don't," he said very softly.

"Don, I don't know what –"

"Don't pull that crap on me," Don snarled, turning on him. "That's what we say to victim's families, and we mean it, but we also know it's not always true." His throat was aching from the effort of not screaming at the top of his lungs. "Don't . . . I don't need the . . ." Colby was silent for several minutes, and Don slowly got himself back under control. He was furious with himself. He couldn't afford to break down like this right now. Charlie couldn't afford for him to break down like this right now.

"You want the straight answer to those questions?" Colby asked at length. Don nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "You find out who did it, if you can, you make sure the bastards pay, if you can, and you move on." Don lowered his head and closed his eyes. "But we are nowhere near that point, my friend."

"Yeah," Don said, more breath than voice behind his words.

"And, you know, it's okay if you freak out a little. It can even be good to just get through it and clear it away." Colby paused, then he leaned a little closer. "The important thing is not to do it behind the wheel, or where too many people can see you." Don nodded again. "You want company?" Don took a deep breath and shook his head, not looking at Colby. "Okay. I'll just be on that bench over there. Can I borrow your phone?"

Wordlessly, Don handed it to him and he listened to Colby move away. He wanted to kill something right now, and his anger wavered back and forth between internally and externally directed. He had to pull it together, get past the fury and fear and guilt so he could just deal.

He clenched his teeth and tried to concentrate.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Megan was just taking off her gloves when her phone rang from Don's number. She answered and wasn't too surprised to hear Colby's voice. "Hey, Megan, how's it coming?"

"We're getting close to done," she said. "Is something wrong?"

"Let's just say you got Don out of public view just in time."

"Oh dear," she said. "Well, it had to be coming."

"We're at an overlook about twenty or so miles along the highway." She could almost see his disturbed look. "Don is in no condition to drive, and won't be, and I'm on Demerol, so do you think you could get David to drop you by?"

"Of course." The slight emphasis he'd placed on David's name didn't escape her, and she glanced around at the scene. Evidence Response had been and gone while Don was sitting on the porch, and the coroner had arrived to take the bodies away. David was working with the coroner's people while Fogarty and Edgerton were looking at the bluff the sniper had shot from. "I'll call you back in a bit, okay?" she said.

"A little time's no problem," he said with feeling. "In fact, it would better if you didn't come too soon."

Megan nodded, a little startled that her stoic boss had unglued on Colby of all people, but glad that he had let go a little. "Sure," she said, belatedly remembering that Colby couldn't see her nod. "Thanks." She hung up and drifted up to Fogarty and Edgerton. They were discussing a trip over to the bluff, and she nodded. "Hey, why don't David and I wait for the coroner to finish here, and then head back to the office," she suggested. "We can get to looking at some of the evidence."

Fogarty turned to her. "Good, and we'll go check out possible vantage points."

Edgerton looked at her, and she could tell he knew something was up, but he wasn't saying anything. "Sure wish we had the voodoo man to help with angles," Edgerton commented.

"Voodoo man?" Fogarty repeated hopefully.

"The professor," Edgerton said. "Eppes," he added when that didn't seem to clue Fogarty in, and Fogarty's eyebrows went up.

"That reminds me," Megan said. "Charlie's papers, do you mind if I give Amita and Larry a call?"

Fogarty gave her an odd look. "Charlie's girlfriend and your boyfriend?" he asked.

Edgerton's eyes widened. "Boyfriend?"

"Not now," she snapped, and he nodded, looking amused nevertheless. She turned to Fogarty. "Dr. Ramanujan is a professor at CalSci, and she often helps on cases, as does Dr. Fleinhardt,' she said coldly.

Fogarty held up his hands. "I don't have a problem with it," he said. "It's just odd how many . . . relationships there are among your team and its consultants."

Megan shrugged. "Well, if you're okay with it, I'll get Larry and Amita on trying to figure out what Charlie was doing."

"We'd better be moving if we're going to have any light," Edgerton said, and they took off in Fogarty's car. Megan turned around to look at the remnants of the scene. It was much less harrowing now, with the bodies decently covered and the other evidence picked up.

David walked up. "So, do you want to tell me why you stage managed that so carefully?" he asked. "Who was it that called?"

"Colby," she said with a sigh. "Don's . . . taking this really hard."

David shook his head. "Man, I don't even know how I'd be if it was my kid brother. It's bad enough just knowing Charlie."

Megan nodded. "Well, I guess Don's having a . . . a moment just now. He's not fit to drive and –"

"And neither is Colby," David finished for her. "When we find these guys, I'd like to . . ." He trailed off, not finishing the thought aloud.

"Me too," Megan said. "Anyway, Colby wants you to drop me so I can drive for them."

"Of course." He nodded in the direction of Fogarty and Edgerton's departure. "And you got rid of them –"

"Because they've already seen enough," she said. "Some things are private."

"Oh yeah," David said with feeling.

"But we should stay until the bodies are taken away."

"Right."

"And I have a couple calls to make." David nodded and went back over to the team from the coroner's office. She called Colby and let him know they'd be on their way shortly, and then she dialed the number for Charlie's house. She wasn't taking Don to the office until he was recovered from whatever he was doing now. Alan answered the phone at the first ring, sounding breathless. "Alan, it's Megan," she said.

"How's Don?" he demanded. "Have you found Charlie? What's going on?"

His questions struck her like blows. "Don's fine," she said mendaciously. "We're still investigating, and no, we haven't found Charlie." His breath huffed out at this news, and she could tell he was dismayed. "Look, I'm bringing Don home in awhile, and – are you alone?"

"No. Amita and Larry, and Millie, and a nice team from the FBI are here." He paused, but before she could speak, he continued, sounding more alarmed. "What do you mean, bringing Don home? You said he was fine."

"He is," she said, mentally cursing her slipping tongue. "I'm just not with him now, and he doesn't have his car." Given that this call was likely being recorded, she didn't dare get too specific. "Let Amita and Larry know that we'll need their help, would you? Charlie left some math behind."

"Charlie always leaves math behind," Alan said, sounding very much like himself. "Everywhere he goes. He got in trouble for graffiti in high school for scribbling equations on bathroom stalls."

Megan snorted, amused despite the situation. "Well, I think we're –"

"Not this time, though," Alan said as if she hadn't spoken, and she realized that what she'd taken for normalcy was really just an illusion. "This time he cleaned up. All the windows. Even the boards in the garage are wiped clean. I . . ." He was suddenly gone, and Megan didn't quite know what to do.

Then a new, brisk voice took his place. "Hello, this is Millie. To whom am I speaking?"

"Megan. Is Alan –"

"He's gone to sit down," Millie said.

Megan blinked. "I'm bringing Don and Colby to the house. We'll be there in about two hours, I'd guess."

"All right," Millie said cheerily. "I'll make sure there's enough dinner." Abruptly the tone of her voice changed. "I've got to go, I think Alan needs something." And she was gone before Megan could say another word. She hoped Alan was okay, but there was nothing she could do from this distance.

She turned to wait for the bodies to be taken away.

* * *

Charlie felt the boat's engine slow, and he wondered what it meant. Were they going in to port or were they going to anchor somewhere out in the deep water? It would make a big difference so far as he was concerned. A port would mean people and police. Anchoring in deep water meant isolation and a long swim, but it also meant that they either had a lot of supplies on board, or they would have to go out for resupply.

He frankly didn't know what to hope for, aside from a little light. No matter how hard he tried not to let it get to him, it was freaking him out. He felt around the room, and he found a padded seat . . . he was pretty sure it was the one that Bill had been sitting on earlier.

He had no clear idea how much time had passed, and he suspected that was part of the plan. He'd been unconscious for God knew how long, and now he had only his mind to tell time with. His mind and his bladder. He felt his way to the head again. As before he pushed the switch, hoping the light would come on. This time it did and he blinked in sudden pain. When his eyes had adjusted, he found himself looking into a mirror of polished metal. He stared at his face and hair. There were speckles of red in varying sizes all along the side of his face and his hair was stuck together with . . .

Abruptly, he slammed the lid of the toilet up and vomited into it. What he'd assumed was dirt and possibly drool was blood, and he didn't remember what had happened or how it had gotten there. He didn't even know whose blood it was, except that it wasn't his.

After several minutes, he stood up again and swallowed the nasty taste in his mouth. There was nothing like a towel in here, he'd wiped his hands on his pants when he'd washed them earlier. He had to get clean. He began to search for something he could use, but as he turned, he saw that the neck and sleeve of his shirt were also spotted with blood. He ripped it off hastily and stared at it on the floor. There were streaks of blood on his neck as well.

His heart was racing, his stomach revolted again, and he fell to his knees, retching dry heaves. Slowly, he got to his feet and picked up his shirt. Rinsing it under the water from the tap, he got it as clean as he could, then used it to wash his face and neck. There wasn't any soap, but at least he could get the . . . he stopped thinking about it and just did it, finally rinsing his hair.

When he turned to go back out into the main room, he realized that the light in there had come on as well. He walked out, leaving his drenched shirt in the sink. What was going on? He was in a cabin, and the gurney was attached to the floor somehow. It looked like they'd rolled him in here and secured it so that they could get moving as quickly as possible.

He sat down on the bench again, newly aware of exactly how small the cabin was. There was barely enough room to move around the edges of the gurney, and that was it. He was shivering a bit, still damp from his wash . . . he buried his face in his hands, just breathing, trying to control his stomach.

The door opened, and Charlie was afraid to raise his head in case the person entering wasn't wearing a mask.

"Dr. Eppes? What's going – where's your shirt?" Charlie pointed, and he heard someone walk across to the head. It wasn't Bill because he spoke again at Charlie's elbow. "We're masked, Dr. Eppes, you don't have to look away." Charlie took a deep breath and looked up.

"It's soaked, sir." It was a young man's voice, and he appeared to be very large. Bigger than Colby, if Charlie was any judge. Of course, with the size of the room, he could seem larger.

"What did you –"

"Blood," Charlie said. "There was blood on . . ." He stopped speaking as his gorge rose again, and he swallowed hard.

"Oh lord," Bill said. "Get him a shirt, someone. He's shivering."

A few moments later, someone handed Charlie a towel and a sweatshirt. He dried his hair off and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. He felt warmer with it on, but he didn't really stop shivering. "What now?" he asked.

"We're going to get off the boat, Dr. Eppes."

"Won't people think it's odd, all of you wearing masks like that?" Charlie asked.

"We're in a private facility," Bill said. "And we won't be masked, you will be."

"What?" Charlie exclaimed. "No, I can't . . . you –"

"Dr. Eppes, I would prefer not to drug you again. It wouldn't be good for you, but you can't be permitted to see us or the facility." Charlie looked at the large young man and then Bill, and he could see several people beyond the door, all wearing black tactical masks. He swallowed and looked down. Bill spoke again. "It won't take terribly long, Dr. Eppes. We're going to ask that you lie down on the gurney and allow us to strap you down –"

Charlie jumped to his feet and scrambled back as far away from Bill as he could get. "I don't think so," he said. "I'm . . . I can't do that."

"Dr. Eppes, be reasonable –"

"What's unreasonable about objecting to being tied up and blindfolded?" Charlie demanded.

Bill stepped back into the hall and another hulking figure came in. Charlie resisted, kicking and hitting, but within a very short time, he was strapped back down to the gurney with a hood over his head. He continued to fight the straps, but they'd been designed well. He yelled, but he was sure they wouldn't have left him the ability to make noise if that noise could be overheard.

They unhooked the gurney and rolled it out into the hall. He felt them lift it and go up some stairs. Charlie concentrated on breathing. The hood was very claustrophobic, and he didn't want to hyperventilate. How long had it been? What were Don and the others doing? How hard was it going to be to find him?

He felt a bit of jouncing while they put him into a vehicle and then he heard the rear doors close. After several minutes, he felt hands loosening the straps, and the hood was removed. For all he could see, it might as well still have stayed on. "Bill?" he asked.

"Yes, Dr. Eppes."

"Where are we going?"

"How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" Charlie asked, his voice breaking. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm not going to answer that question, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie ground his teeth. "So, you're just going to sit in here and do what?"

"I'm just here to make sure you don't get up to any mischief."

"Can I have some light?"

"The darkness, too, is to help you avoid mischief."

Charlie let out a growl of frustration and felt around in the opposite direction of Bill. He found a bench along the side of the wall. Then he felt a leg and jumped back with surprise. Bill's hands guided him to a seat on that side. "How many people are there in here?" Charlie demanded.

"Just four, you, and I and two of my colleagues."

"And their names?"

"You don't need to concern yourself with them," Bill said.

"If I don't know their names, how will I communicate with them?" Charlie asked.

"That's not an issue, Dr. Eppes."

"What do you mean?"

"They won't talk to you."

Isolation. Charming. Charlie took a deep breath. "Can you at least tell me what time it is, and how long it will take to get there?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Bill said, and he had the gall to sound amused. Charlie thumped his head against the wall behind him. "There's a corner a little further to your right. If you wanted to lean into that and get some sleep, it probably wouldn't do you any harm."

"Gee, thanks," Charlie muttered. These people were crazy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Don had been calm when she got there, but, as Colby had predicted, had still not been in any condition to drive. She'd gotten the pair of them into the car and started towards LA. She and Colby made quiet small talk for awhile, ignoring the silence in the back seat. When they ran out of small talk, she turned the music on to a relatively inoffensive station.

That had been playing for a half hour when a voice spoke from the back seat. "Could you turn off the elevator music?" Don said.

"Sure," Megan replied, hitting the power button. "You back with us?"

"Yeah, I guess." He didn't say anything for a moment. "Where are we going?"

"I was going to take you to your dad," Megan said. "He's worried about you."

There was a deep sigh. "Yeah, I'd better look in on him."

"And we need to talk to Amita and Larry to get them to look at that stuff Charlie did," she added. "They're at the house, so we're killing two birds with one stone."

"Sorry I got all . . ."

"Don't mention it, Don," Colby said. "We all have our moments, trust me."

"Yeah."

None of them spoke for awhile, then, feeling the need to make some kind of conversational gambit, Megan asked a question that had been bugging her for awhile. "So, Don, what was that 'banana slug' thing?"

"Banana slug?" Colby repeated.

"Yeah, when the guy had hold of Charlie and I was pointing my gun at him, Don yelled 'banana slug' and Charlie dropped."

"Really?" Colby started to turn in his seat, then seemed to think better of it, relaxing with a grunt. "What does that mean, Don?"

She glanced at Don in the rearview and saw him shrug. "Just something Charlie and I worked out when we were in high school," he said.

"Oh yeah?"

"There were a lot of guys who seemed to think bullying the little kid was funny."

Colby raised his eyebrows. "So you told him to fall to the ground when bullies were after him?"

"When they grabbed him. One time some joker grabbed him and I was there, but Charlie froze and I couldn't figure out how to make him let go without hurting Charlie, too. After that, we practiced the banana slug thing. We never actually used it till the other night."

"Well, it's a good thing," Megan said. "We were stuck until he dropped like that."

Conversation faltered again until Don cleared his throat. "Okay, we go by the house and I'll check on Dad. Then we take Amita and Larry to the office –" He paused. "Unless that leaves Dad alone. I don't want –"

"Millie's there, and they've got a team keeping an eye on the phone."

"Good." He cleared his throat. "So, did you find anything of use at the scene?"

"It's hard to say," Megan said. "Evidence response took everything back to the office. The kidnappers didn't leave a lot behind apart from shell casings, and if they're operating true to form, those won't match any guns we have on file."

Don was silent a moment, and Megan glanced into the rearview. He looked different somehow, more positive. "What are Edgerton and Fogarty up to?"

"Checking on the vantage points for the sniper."

"David?"

"On his way back to the office." Megan wasn't sure she liked this new tone in Don's voice. He seemed . . . she wasn't sure. She'd have to keep an eye on him.

Don nodded. "Where's my phone?" Colby handed it to him wordlessly, and Don immediately made a call. "David. Yes, I'm fine. When you get to the office, see if you can pry those papers loose from evidence because we'll be bringing Amita and Larry in to take a look at them. Yeah, as soon as we can get to them. See you then." He hung up and sat back. "Can you get this thing to go any faster?"

When they reached Charlie's house, Don was all action. He hurried up the front steps and went inside before Megan had even finished turning the car off. She walked around and helped Colby get out of the passenger seat. "I'm fine, Megan, I can –"

"I know you can, but you don't have to," she said irritably.

They joined Don inside where they found him having an intent conversation with his father, reassuring him. Megan turned away. It was hard to watch. Instead, she walked over to Larry, who rose and gave her a hug that nearly undid her. She squeezed him back. "Did Alan tell you we needed to talk to you?"

Larry shook his head. "Alan has either been silent, or he's been reminiscing painfully."

"Oh dear," Megan said, glancing over at him. "Where's Amita?"

"Helping Millie make dinner," Larry said. "Since, evidently, Millie doesn't cook."

Megan's eyes widened. "I see. Well, we're going to need both of you. We have something Charlie was working on before . . ." Larry nodded, and Megan could see that he was holding onto his calm facade with the greatest of efforts. "Are you okay, Larry?"

"Charlie reminded me once, while you were missing, that one cannot achieve anything without maintaining a clear head. I am maintaining a clear head at the cost of some deterioration of my stomach lining."

"Oh," Megan said. "We are going to find him, you know."

Larry nodded. "I have every confidence you will find him. My concern is more what condition he'll be in when he's found. I recall a number of occasions when Charles annoyed older, larger students into rash actions that they later regretted. I doubt the kidnappers will regret anything, and they have already proven themselves inclined towards violence."

Megan sighed. "Yeah."

Amita exploded from the kitchen. "Don! Is there any news?"

"Not much," he said. "But we need your help. Charlie was working on something, and he didn't report his findings before the attack. We need you and Larry to go over what he left behind and tell us what you think."

"Of course!" Amita said instantly. "Where are they? Can we go now?"

"In just a minute." Don turned back to his father. "Are you okay, Dad?"

"Why are you here with me when you could be looking for your brother? Go!"

"Okay."

Amita gave Alan a tight hug, and hurried to grab her own laptop. Alan looked at his son. "See, I told you a daughter would fix it."

"Right," Don said distractedly. "Is everyone ready to go?"

"Yup," Colby said.

"No, you I want to stay here."

"What?" Colby protested. "I'm not that bad off!"

Don got closer and Megan drew near. "I want someone I know with my dad right now, and I think he needs someone familiar."

"Okay," Colby said reluctantly.

"Let's go."

At the office, they found David still in negotiations to get the papers. Don took the phone from him. "Hello, who is this?" He paused. "Well, Agent Henry, this is Agent Eppes. I want those papers over here pronto." Another pause. "That 'bunch of scribblings' could tell us a great deal about who kidnapped my brother, so if you don't send them over here right now, I'm going to come and get them." Another pause. "Very good. Thanks."

They all set to work, Larry and Amita just idling in the conference room until the pages got there. Megan grabbed them some coffee. Larry looked like he could use something to calm his nerves. Don came in as Larry was expressing his gratitude at some length.

"Here we go," he said, putting the stack of pages on the table flattened out.

Larry and Amita instantly walked over and started looking at them. "This looks like . . ." Amita trailed off and went to hang the first page up on the wall. Larry and she occupied themselves with that for several minutes. Amita stood back to look at them. "What's that on the edge of all the pages?" she asked, walking up and touching it. Her eyes widened, and she turned to Don, her expression and shoulders gone very tense. "It's not –"

"It is blood," Don said. "But it's not Charlie's blood." Amita relaxed a bit. "It's Tutwiler's blood," Don said. "He died on top of the laptop case Megan found this in."

Amita turned and looked at the blood with a firm jaw. "Bastards," she muttered. Then she began to trace the connections between the pages. Megan watched for awhile, but it was all too much for her to understand, and she had other work to do.

* * *

Don didn't have to do much to keep everyone working. They all seemed as determined as he was, and that suited him fine. He went in to see what Larry and Amita were doing. He watched them work for awhile, trying to see what the connections were. They seemed to be drawing some kind of a network with names or descriptions in the intersections. "Who are these guys?" he asked.

Amita walked over to him. Pointing to one of the names in the bottom layer of the diagram, she said, "This is the guy who worked on Mr. Olson's roof and then later died. Charlie was tracing his relationships, then tracing the relationships of the people he was connected to. I need to get some information from Colby, and can we have someone going out to ask questions? There are some preliminary conclusions here that we might be able to state, but I'd like some more certainty."

"What's the conclusion?" Don asked.

Amita bit her lip and clearly wasn't ready to answer. Larry, however, looked up from the lists he was reading through. "Charlie made a connection to someone in the FBI, he just didn't know who yet. We need to get someone to ask questions of . . ." He pulled out a list of names. "These people, and there will be more."

"In the FBI?" Don exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"More to the point, Charlie was almost sure," Amita said, willing to talk now that the cat was out of the bag. "He was checking things through," she said, pointing to evidence of that on the pages that Don would have to take on faith. "I think he didn't want to say anything till he was certain of his calculations, but I've been through them, and I don't see any errors. I just . . ." She shrugged.

Don wondered who the hell it could possibly be. He turned around and glanced around the bullpen. Who was it that he couldn't trust? "We need to know who that is as quickly as possible, because we can't afford to have someone passing information about our investigation on to them now."

"Well, then, get someone in here so I can tell them what questions to ask," Larry said.

"Right," Don said. He called David in and put him in charge of that, since he'd already been working on it with Charlie.

He walked out of the conference room, but Amita followed him a second later. "Hey, wasn't there some kind of e-mail that wound up getting sent to you from like a hundred different people?"

Don nodded. "Yeah, but Agent Dubois looked into it and said she didn't see anything helpful there."

"She wasn't working on this relationship network," Amita said. "Those kinds of programs typically pull e-mail addresses out of contact lists, and if we're lucky, they'll be contact lists from people our sender knows."

Don's eyes widened. "Follow me."

Dubois was off duty at this hour. Don was surprised to realize that it was already two in the morning. There was someone in the office, however, and they got Amita the data she needed to set to work. She moved it into the conference room.

Don sighed and went to get more coffee.

* * *

Charlie awoke suddenly when hands grabbed him and leaned him forward. The hood was over his head before he knew what was happening. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"Hush, Dr. Eppes," Bill said. "We've arrived."

Charlie went very still. "Where?"

"Where you'll be staying for a time."

The impersonal hands maneuvered him onto his feet, ducking slightly, and helped him out of the back of the vehicle. Then they forced his arms behind his back and cuffed him. "What . . . why'd you do that?" he asked, his gut turning over. He felt like throwing up, but he didn't dare, not in this hood. He took several deep, cloth-smelling breaths, trying to control his stomach.

"Come along, Dr. Eppes," Bill said ahead of him, and the hands gave him no choice. One man on each side of him pulled him forward, and he walked between them, feeling dwarfed and terrified. If they'd arrived, the time was coming soon when they'd start making their demands and he'd start refusing. And they'd start the consequences for refusal.

There was a smell of old straw and dust, and Charlie wondered where they were. Asking seemed kind of pointless at the moment, though. He counted his steps. There were ten before they pulled him to a stop and one of them went in front of them. They guided him down stairs that felt wooden and uneven.

"What is this?" Charlie quavered. He tried to stop, but the man behind him pressed forward, forcing him to keep going or fall down the steps. There was no other response. They went down twenty short steps, and Charlie began to smell dirt and ancient onions. Underground. His breath started coming shorter. He was already feeling somewhat claustrophobic in the hood, and the fact that he was going underground only made it worse. His nausea, which had never truly gone away, increased to a painful degree. "Guys," he said, and his voice quavered. "I'm feeling sick."

They didn't speak, but their pace picked up some. Then they stopped altogether for a moment, and Charlie heard a door open. They moved forward again, and then stopped for another door. Charlie was feeling worse and worse the further they went. When they finally stopped, he gulped on bile. "I'm going to be sick."

One of them took the hood off him and pushed him into a small space that proved to be a bathroom. There was no proper lid to the toilet, just a seat, and Charlie didn't have time for niceties. There wasn't much. He hadn't eaten since lunch with his bodyguards, and it had been hours since then.

"Dr. Eppes?"

"What?" Charlie asked harshly, standing back from the toilet and leaning sideways against the cold concrete wall.

"Are you all right? They said you're ill."

"Stress can do that to a person," Charlie said heavily. He gulped against the feel of the bile in his throat. "I want to go home."

"I can arrange for some kind of antacid, would that help?"

"Going home would help."

"I'm afraid that's not an option, Dr. Eppes," Bill said patiently. "Come out, would you, so I can take the handcuffs off."

Charlie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he turned around and pulled the door open with his foot. He exited the room and found Bill, masked, standing outside. He turned his back and Bill unlocked the cuffs and took them away. Charlie brought his shaking hands around to rub his eyes. Then he walked into the bathroom and rinsed his mouth out in the sink. There was no mirror. There was, however, a bathtub.

Charlie made use of the facilities and then walked out to find that Bill was waiting for him. "What do you want now?" he asked wearily, glancing around the room. The only furniture in the tiny space was a mattress on the floor in one corner. It had bedding folded up on it, and what looked like a change of clothes. The light in the ceiling was behind a Plexiglas panel, flush to the surface. It was a dismally depressing space with hard concrete walls.

"I just wanted to assure you that no harm will come to you so long as you cooperate."

Charlie looked around the room again and shook his head. "I'm not going to cooperate."

Bill shrugged. "That is your choice, but we'll see how far a little boredom goes to persuade you." He walked to the door and rapped on it. Charlie noticed suddenly that there was no handle on the inside. The hinges, too, were not visible, and it opened outwards, so he had no possible way to block it shut. The door opened and Bill looked over at Charlie. "Sleep well, Dr. Eppes."

The door shut behind him and a moment later the lights went out. Charlie stood still in the middle of the room, trying to remember where everything was. He desperately wanted a bath, and he wondered just how he was supposed to make the bed in the dark.

He managed both feats, and finally lay flat on the mattress, staring blindly up at the ceiling. Boredom wasn't such a bad consequence. If only he could believe it would end there.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for your reviews. I post and then wait hopefully for my readers' feedback. It keeps me going.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Don was going over the physical evidence with Megan when Amita appeared at his elbow. "I've got something, I think, but I'm not sure what it means."

"What?"

She looked uncomfortable. "Come into the conference room, and I can show you."

Don stood up and Megan came with him. "What is it?"

Amita sat down at the computer she'd been working on. "Okay, remember you told me that Dubois told you there wasn't anything in this e-mail attack to lead to the origin?"

"Yeah," Don said.

"Then either she's not very good at her job, or she lied," Amita said with certainty. "I've already found the origin point."

"That's great!" Don said.

"Actually, no it's not. I mean, I'm sure it'll help, but it would have helped more if you'd gotten it that day. It came from an internet hotspot at a Starbucks."

The number of people in and out of a Starbucks on any given day . . . it had been three days. They'd have people ask questions, but they wouldn't find out much unless the perpetrator stood out. And this perpetrator had a vested interest in not standing out. Don shook his head. "And she should have known this?" he asked.

Amita nodded. "Absolutely. It didn't take very long for me to find out. I've just been looking to see if there was anything more definite, and that's the best I can get." She paused, but Don could tell there was more. He raised his eyebrows. "At this late date," she added.

Don took a deep breath and stood up. "What day is today?"

"Saturday," Megan said. He glanced at his watch. He was pretty sure her team was scheduled to work today, and it was past time for them to be here if that was the case. He turned towards the door. "Don? What are you doing?" Megan asked.

"I'm going to have a little chat with Agent Marilyn Dubois," he said as he walked out.

As he headed across the office, Megan hurried up beside him. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly.

"Be my –"

"Don, wait!" Amita came running out of the conference room. "Larry . . . we have something else."

He followed her back in. Larry was at the board with the relationship map on it, pointing to one particular nexus. "This person has been referred to in the cell phones and e-mails we've traced by several names. We haven't yet found a real name, but we know it's a woman." He pointed to a symbol that indicated this fact. "There are a number of nicknames, Lynnie, Lynn, but the one that appears most often is Dub-Lyn." He wrote that on the nexus point. "It might be as well to ascertain more facts about Marilyn Dubois before you confront –"

The door to the conference room opened, and an agent walked in with a report. He looked up at the board where Larry was working and raised his eyebrows. "Where'd you come across that?" he asked, laughing. "Don't let Marilyn see it. She hates that nickname. We were in college together, and –" He stopped, looking around at their faces. "Is something wrong?"

"When you say Marilyn, do you mean Agent Dubois?" Megan asked.

"Yeah, it was her sorority sisters who gave her that nickname, during pledge, and she never escaped it, at least not in college. When I met her here, she made me promise never to tell anyone on pain of death."

Don nodded once and caught Megan's eye. "Let's go."

When they were out of the conference room, Megan leaned towards him and spoke softly. "He's only been here three weeks. What do you want to bet she had another reason for insisting that nickname be private?" Don shook his head and didn't reply. "Don, we should go to Wright first if we've got an accusation against another agent," she said.

"I know," he said, but he didn't stop moving towards the IT room.

"Don, it's a clear conflict of interest."

"Something's clear, all right," Don said.

"Don, you could be arrested."

"I don't care."

"You could go to jail."

"I don't care."

"If you go to jail before this case is over, you won't be able to be there for Charlie."

"Wright wouldn't do that to me," Don said.

"Don, we should at least get Fogarty."

"Fuck Fogarty!" Don said.

From across the hallway, he heard Fogarty's voice, startled and outraged. "What?"

Megan paused behind him. "We think we've got someone in the bureau who's been passing information to the kidnappers," she hissed. She must have noticed then that Don hadn't stopped moving. "Don!" she exclaimed, and caught up with him.

They turned the corner into the IT room and Don walked straight up to Dubois' desk. She wasn't there. He stood and waited, and Megan, forced to silence by the immediate presence of other people, waited beside him. Fogarty walked up a moment later, clearly mystified.

Dubois walked out of the room where computers were stored. "Does anyone know where the Eppes computer is?"

"I gave it to Eppes," called the man who'd been on duty at two in the morning. "Looks like he's waiting for you."

Her gaze shot over to Don, who was waiting with his arms crossed. Her eyes widened and she wavered, as if to back away. Instead she came over and said, "Is something wrong?"

"We've got some questions about this case, do you mind coming and talking with us?"

"What do you mean, questions?" she asked, and her supervisor, Agent Peters, came across the room.

"Is something wrong, Agent Fogarty?"

Don glanced over at him, fully aware that Fogarty had no idea what this was about. "Yes, there are some irregularities in the investigation that we'd like to ask Dubois about," he said without missing a beat. Don was going to have to buy him a drink for that when this was all over.

"I gave you my report," she said to Fogarty. "I don't know anything else."

"What's this about, Fogarty?" Agent Peters asked, clearly unwilling to go much further without some kind of an explanation. Megan started to say something about privacy, but Don was getting pissed.

"She's been passing information to the kidnappers, and she lied about a lead in the case."

"What?" Peters exclaimed. "Dubois, is that true?"

"Of course it's not!" she replied. "He's just overwrought. He shouldn't even be involved."

"And exactly how is it that I'm overwrought?" Fogarty asked, and she looked over at him, seeming a little deflated. "Can you explain why Agent Eppes is so convinced that you're covering something up?"

"How could I?" she demanded, and Don's fists clenched at her attitude. "I don't even know where this accusation is coming from."

"Charlie," Megan said, and Dubois went white. "It's coming from the work Charlie did just before he was taken. Just before all those agents died." Dubois' expression relaxed, and Megan realized that she must have thought they'd found Charlie.

"Really?" Peters said, sounding impressed. Dubois darted a worried look at him. "Look, why don't we go somewhere a little less public and have this conversation?"

"I'm not going anywhere with him," Dubois said, indicating Don. "He's out of control."

"If I was out of control, you'd be –"

"Don!" Megan said warningly.

"Emotions are running pretty high right now," Peters said. "Come on, Marilyn, Eppes, Fogarty, Reeves." He glanced aside, an intent look, and Don suspected that an assistant with experience had just been sent silently to do some task. Probably to get Wright. Peters ushered them all into his office, where it was a cramped fit. He maneuvered them all subtly so that Don didn't wind up next to the bitch. "All right, exactly what is Agent Dubois accused of, and on what evidence?"

"You're actually taking this seriously?" Dubois exclaimed.

Peters looked at her. "I have to. When an agent of Eppes' character and experience –"

"Forgive me, but he's clearly lost his perspective," she said. "I've done nothing wrong."

"We do have evidence," Megan said mildly to Peters. She turned and gave Dubois a sardonic look. "I'm sure you'll find it very interesting, Dub-Lyn."

"I don't know how there can be –" she started, but then she went paper white.

"Marilyn?" Peters asked.

Her eyes had gone wide now, and Don watched angrily as she looked around for help. "I want a lawyer!" she announced, and Don's blood pressure went through the roof. Only the fact that there were two people between them prevented him from going for Dubois' throat. He clenched his fists and his jaw and stared inimically at her.

Peters sat heavily in his chair, his expression shadowed by disappointment. "Marilyn, with three agents dead, two in critical condition and two injured, as well as a respected FBI consultant missing and held somewhere against his will, I think you'd do better to cooperate."

"I'm . . . I don't –" She swallowed and was silent.

"Give me one minute alone with her," Don said levelly. "I'll get her talking."

Peters stared at him for a moment. "No," he replied, and Dubois relaxed slightly. "Not yet. Agent Reeves, would you please take Dubois into custody?"

"With pleasure, sir," Megan said, pulling out her cuffs. She did a quick pat down of female agent, removing her badge holder and various other implements and placing them on Peters' desk. "Let's go."

When she was gone, Don took a deep, controlling breath. "Someone's got to make her talk," he said. "If she has any information at all about where Charlie is –"

"Someone will," Peters said. "It won't be you." He looked closely at Don. "Maybe you should go home, Eppes, and get some rest."

Don shook his head. "I'm fine. I've got work to do." With that, he left to go tell Amita and Larry what their work had led to.

* * *

Megan took Dubois out through her own office area to much muttering and exclamations. Dubois kept her head up as they passed her coworkers, and Megan had to give her credit for that. Not much, but some. They went to the elevator, and wound up with a car to themselves. Dubois stood as far from Megan as Megan would let her, and didn't look at her.

"You know," Megan said, and Dubois glanced in her direction. "If something happens to Charlie, it's not Don you have to worry about." Dubois looked away. "They won't let Don within a half mile of you. Me, on the other hand . . ."

"All I'd have to do is tell them you threatened me," Dubois said.

"Yeah, I suppose." They continued in silence for a few moments, then Megan cleared her throat. "You might want to ask that lawyer about how a charge of treason would play out for you."

"Treason? Are you nuts?"

"Charlie's worked for the NSA. I'm pretty sure the AUSA could make a case for treason out of that, especially if you got stubborn about helping us out."

The elevator doors opened, and Megan surrendered her captive to be processed. She hoped she'd given the stupid twit some food for thought. What had she sold Charlie and those agents out for, money or belief? Megan wasn't sure which was worse, but she really wished she knew. Belief could get kind of scary if the kidnappers shared it. Money might mean death if Charlie didn't cooperate, but belief, there was nothing more vicious, or more deadly.

* * *

Charlie woke up to light, and was relieved not to be in darkness. He got up and went to the bathroom, got a drink of water and then sat back down on the mattress. He hadn't had a restful night . . . or whatever it was. He was now completely lost as to time.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and looked around the room. His stomach was grumbling with hunger, which combined oddly with the nausea that still troubled him. He leaned his head back against the wall. Boredom. He could survive boredom.

Hour upon hour stretched by. Charlie stood up and paced out the size of his little room. Six foot by ten foot, give or take, and the bathroom was five feet square. All told, he had eighty-five square feet. One thousand and twenty square inches of solitary confinement. Charlie reminded himself that if he was in prison, he'd have less space, and he'd have to share it. Somehow, the thought failed to comfort him. At the moment, a little company would not go amiss.

So far they hadn't asked anything of him. Perhaps they were trying to soften him up by presenting him with what he'd have to suffer if he didn't give way. He wondered when they'd bring breakfast. He'd had a plenty long fast by now, and he'd be happy to break it.

When the door opened, it was so startling that Charlie jumped. He looked up to find an anonymous black mask gazing down at him. He didn't think it was Bill, but he wasn't sure why he made that judgment. Then he realized. Bill had blue eyes. This man had brown. He held the door open and stood back. A shorter figure who might be Bill stepped into the doorway and gestured for Charlie to come out.

Charlie didn't like all these anonymous figures. It was disturbing to think that they might release him after all and leave him with no idea who had done this to him.

Don would find them. Don would solve the case and make everything all right again.

Don would come.

He rose and walked out into the next room. The man who'd opened the door walked across to another door where he stood at attention with a second guard. Charlie glanced around this room. It was clearly intended to be his workspace. White boards lined the walls, and there were two free standing chalkboards as well. A medium sized table sat in the middle of the room, with six chairs around it. There were a couple of files on the table, stacked up in one spot, and the usual impedimenta that accompanied whiteboards and blackboards were scattered around the room. Charlie moistened his lips and stopped a few feet away from the door to his cell, which had been left open.

"Please, Dr. Eppes, come and sit down," Bill said, walking over to the table and sitting down at the chair where the files were stacked.

Charlie weighed his options and went over to the table. He could play along that far. He sat down in the chair as far from Bill as he could get and placed his clasped hands on the table in front of him. He felt disheveled and unkempt, as he had no comb or brush, no toothbrush, no shaving tackle, and he'd slept in the change of clothes he'd been given the previous night. Bill's garments looked neat and clean, unwrinkled, and the mask made any question of shaving or hair combing irrelevant. Charlie took a deep breath and raised his chin. He wasn't asking for anything.

"Did you sleep well?" Bill asked.

"Not really," Charlie said.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dr. Eppes," he replied. "I have some information for you to consider." He indicated the files. "I can get you some breakfast while you take a look at it."

Charlie tried to keep his reaction off his face, because that sounded rather like a quid pro quo. He could have breakfast if he looked at the files. If he didn't look at the files . . . if he didn't look at the files, he'd never know what the hell it was they wanted him for. Looking at the data didn't mean he was working for them. It just meant he was seeking information that could be used at a later date. Like at trial when these pricks were arrested.

"Okay," he said. "Let me see."

Bill nodded, and one of the guards opened the door. A fourth masked man came in carrying a tray with eggs, sausage, toast and orange juice. He placed it on the table just in front of Charlie and Bill pushed the first file across. Charlie opened it up and started eating. After a couple of moments, he paused, and looked up at Bill. Gulping slightly against the nausea that was building again, he pushed the tray away and pulled the file closer. He didn't believe what he was seeing.

When he'd finished the file, he looked up. He reached out and took a piece of toast. He thought his stomach could handle toast, and the bread would soak up the excess acid his emotions were producing. "So," he said, then cleared his throat. "So, let me get this straight. You want my help planning an assault on a military target in Iran."

"That's it exactly."

"Are you trying to start a general war in the Middle East?" Charlie demanded.

"We need to spread democracy, Dr. Eppes, and it will do no good to force democracy on the Iraqis if all their neighbors continue to operate under less enlightened forms of government. It will simply create further conflicts that we'll have to intervene in later."

"So you want to start the conflicts now, so as to get them all out of the way at once?" Charlie asked incredulously.

Bill shrugged. "In essence," he said.

"Why do you need my help?" Charlie asked. "This is actually a fairly elementary problem." He closed the file. "Why go to all this trouble to get me?"

"Actually, there are several reasons, Dr. Eppes," Bill said, and Charlie folded his arms on the table, trying to hold in incipient hysterics. This was utterly insane. "First, we want to seed the attack with just enough evidence that it was perpetrated by an American agency, say, for example, the CIA, to be convincing, but not so much that it appears excessive. The evidence must seem realistic, not as if it were planted." Charlie blinked. He could probably do that, but why did they know he could? His theory that there was someone in the FBI passing information to them was getting stronger. "Further, this is not the only attack we anticipate needing to make, and later attacks will require much more careful planning, not just for size and location, but for social, political and strategic impact."

"I see," Charlie said. So he was to be their captive strategist, and if they planned a war, that might be a very long term situation. He glanced at his little room and swallowed. As a long term home, it left much to be desired.

"And, as I said, Dr. Eppes, we have the highest regard for your abilities," Bill added, leaning closer. "We don't feel we can afford to have you working for the misguided portions of the American government. You have earned yourself quite a reputation for skill at ferreting out unexpected details."

Charlie breathed deeply, striving to control himself. They wanted his help, and they wanted to avoid his interference. He was damned either way. "And the other file?" he asked.

Bill looked down at it contemplatively, then he pushed it across to Charlie, but kept his hand on the top, so that Charlie couldn't open it. "This is our projected second attack, in case the terrorists don't respond quickly enough or with adequate force." He released the file and Charlie opened it. He read it, too, in silence.

"And you really think I would go along with this?" he asked, insulted to the core of his being.

"I think you are a patriot, Dr. Eppes," Bill said. "You have a strong allegiance to your country, and you want to do what is necessary to keep its people safe."

"And you think starting a war that encompasses the whole Middle East will do that?" Charlie asked, and his voice broke. He realized that his fists were clenched, and he dropped them off the table into his lap. "You think . . ." He shook his head. "You think planning a 9/11-style attack on Los Angeles will achieve that?"

"In the long term, yes," Bill said, and his voice still retained the calm persuasive tone he'd started out with. "We started out on the right track with Afghanistan and Iraq, but the will of the American people is weakening. They are forgetting the threat the Islamic nations pose to the American way of life."

Charlie didn't even know what to say. Here this man was, propounding his insanity in a calm, reasoned way, as if he really, truly believed it. He stood up. "Can I have a little time to think it through?" he asked.

"Of course, Dr. Eppes." Bill rose as well. "I'll be back at lunchtime to discuss the matter further."

Charlie nodded. Bill and the guards filed out, leaving Charlie alone. Taking a deep breath, Charlie opened the first file again and placed them both on the table side by side. He looked at them for a long moment, then picked up a marker and started writing equations on the nearest board.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Don had not been permitted in the room while Fogarty questioned Dubois, so he sat with Megan in the observation room. She had gotten her lawyer, and she was not cooperating. Her life was currently being ripped apart by David and Colby, who had strong-armed a doctor into declaring him fit. Don wasn't arguing. David would make sure he didn't do too much.

Fogarty had a file open in front of him. "So, let me see if I've got your background right here. You have a graduate level degree in computer science, and you applied to Quantico in late September of 2001. Prior to that, you'd been looking into a career at Microsoft. Why the change?" Dubois shrugged.

"She's not going to talk," Don said. "We need Edgerton in here."

"He's going over some sniper stuff, and then he's going back to his search in Barstow," Megan said. "But I really don't think Fogarty's likely to go for it."

Don took a deep breath. "If she knows where Charlie is . . ."

"She may not even know," Megan said. "I mean, she's in a very vulnerable position here. If you were these guys, as careful as they've been, would you tell her anything like that?"

"I don't know," Don said. "I just know this isn't getting us any closer to Charlie."

The door opened and Wright came in. "Eppes, I thought you'd gone home to get some rest."

"No, sir," Don said. "I'm fine."

"You look like hell, and Reeves, you've been going almost as long as he has, haven't you?" Megan nodded uncomfortably. "Okay, I don't think anything short of this is going to do it, so I'm ordering you both to go home and get some rest."

Don turned to look into the room where Dubois was sitting, ignoring Fogarty's questions. He took a deep breath. "No sir," he said.

"Eppes, that's an order, not a request."

Don stood up, shoving the chair out of the way as he turned to confront the deputy director. "Are you going to order Charlie home to rest, too?" he demanded. "Because nothing short of that is getting me to –"

"Don!" Megan said in a strangled voice.

"Shut up, Megan!" he shouted, turning on her. "Quit trying to manage me! If I want to yell, I damned well will!" She fell silent and looked away.

"Eppes, you are out of control."

"No sir, I am not. If I was out of control, that bitch in there would be telling me everything I want to know."

Wright paused for a moment, and Don fought to get himself back under control. "Eppes, either you go home now and get some rest, or I am going to assign some agents to take you home and make sure you stay there, whether you rest or not. Am I making myself understood?" Don looked away, not trusting his voice. "The brother of one of my agents, and one of the more productive consultants this office has ever worked with has been abducted. Do you really think you need to be here to make sure things get done?"

Don grimaced. "I made a promise," he said.

Wright put a hand on his shoulder. "I doubt somehow that the promise included not sleeping and not eating, Eppes," he said. "If we get anything definite, I will send someone to get you. In the meantime, go home, and don't come back for at least six hours."

Don was having a little trouble backing down from his outburst. Megan stood up. "Come on, Don, let's go."

Don let her lead him out of the room and through the office. When they were in the elevator, he said, "Where does that brother of hers live?"

"Don, you need to get some sleep."

"Charlie's out there. I can't –"

"Charlie would want you to take care of yourself."

Don gave in reluctantly, and they went to Charlie's house. Megan came with him, because it was closer to the office than her place, too. His father was sitting in the living room with Millie, holding hands, and he looked up hopefully on Don's entrance. He shook his head, and his father's face fell. He walked over to sit in the chair opposite the sofa. "I just . . . I've been ordered home to rest," he said. He shook his head and looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Dad, I screwed up."

"What are you apologizing for, Donnie?" his father asked.

"Charlie . . . I didn't take good enough care of him."

"Donnie, this is not your fault!" his father said, sitting forward on the sofa and leaning towards him. "It's their fault. The kidnappers. I know enough to know that determined kidnappers are almost always successful."

"If I'd just done a better job of . . . of –"

"Donnie!" Don looked up at his father's exclamation. "What matters now is getting him back, not whose fault it is."

"I'm not allowed to work on it right now," Don said. "I can't –"

"Well, you need to sleep." His father stood up and got Don to his feet. "You aren't going to do your brother any good if your brain's not working right. The brain's a machine, Donnie. It needs fuel and rest to operate. Go upstairs and get some sleep. I'll have food waiting for you when you get up."

"Dad, I can't . . . Charlie –"

"Charlie would be telling you the odds of making a mistake due to the level of toxicity in your blood," his father said. Don had to admit, that had the ring of truth. "Go to bed, Donnie. If there's any news, I'll wake you."

Overmastered, Don went upstairs and took off his shoes and pants. Then he fell into bed and was out like a light.

* * *

Megan watched the skill with which Alan sent Don upstairs with weary amusement. When he came back, she smiled. "Good work. We needed you at the office."

"You look dead on your feet, if I may say so," Alan said. "You need a bed?"

"I was hoping to borrow a couch or something," she said. "It's a long drive to my place."

"No problem. You want Charlie's bed?"

Megan found the thought immeasurably disturbing. "A sofa?" she asked.

Alan shook his head. "You can sleep in my room," he said. "I wasn't thinking. Come on upstairs. I have a t-shirt you can borrow to sleep in."

"Thanks," she said, and followed him.

* * *

The door opened behind Charlie as he was working feverishly. "Dr. Eppes, I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you working so soon," Bill said.

Charlie turned. "Look, your plan isn't going to work. I can prove it to you." He pointed at the probability curves he'd drawn and the calculations he'd made based on their information. "All it's going to do is get a lot of people killed and make opinions of us in that part of the world solidify into something we can't fight."

Bill stopped abruptly. "I beg your pardon?" For the first time, his voice showed something other than calm politeness.

"Look here," Charlie said, rushing over to one of the chalkboards. "These figures represent the current and projected public opinion in the Middle East as a whole with regard to the United States. Here's what happens if that attack in Iran takes place, and here's what –"

"Dr. Eppes, this is not what I asked you to do," Bill said sharply.

Charlie turned around. "You've got to listen to me. You've got to understand. It won't go anywhere. It has no chance of achieving the end you want. All it will do is make things worse!"

Bill sighed. "Go back to your room, Dr. Eppes. It seems I was overly optimistic."

Charlie shook his head earnestly. "Please listen to me. It's –"

Bill gestured, and the two guards who had flanked the door moved forward. They grabbed him. He didn't stop trying to explain, and one of them wrestled the dry-erase marker out of his hand as he gestured with it. "We'll talk again at dinner time," Bill called as they shoved Charlie through the door and shut it behind him. He was breathing hard, and he tried to pry the door open with his fingers. They had to listen. It wouldn't – it couldn't work.

* * *

Don had to admit he felt better after a few hours sleep, a shower and a bite to eat. He left his father with assurances that he would take care of himself and find Charlie, then returned to the office with Megan. She took a side trip to check in with the folks handling the blood and DNA testing, but Don headed straight for the elevator up to the bullpen. There was another guy waiting for the elevator with a guest badge.

They both got on and Don pressed the button for six. "Six," the guy said. "Oh, I see you . . . okay." He fell awkwardly silent, and Don ignored him. "Hey, um . . . I'm not really sure where I'm supposed to go. They just said go up to the sixth floor, but I don't know who to ask for or what to do."

"What case are you here for?" Don asked.

"Well, it's kind of weird, actually," the man said with an uneasy laugh. "I'm finally visiting my sister at work, only she's been arrested."

Don blinked. "You're Agent Dubois' brother?" he asked.

"Michael Dubois," the guy said holding out a hand.

Don shook it automatically. "Don Eppes," he said. "Um . . . I'm not sure –"

"Eppes? Then this is your case?" Don gaped at him. "I mean they said she helped kidnap someone, and I'm sure the name Eppes was mentioned." He paused, but before Don could think of anything appropriate to say, he went on. "Yeah. The Eppes case is what they said, and you're an agent, so I just thought it must be your case."

"No," Don said. "My brother, he's . . ." He cleared his throat. "He's the one who's missing."

Dubois' brother stared at him. "Wow," he said. "I'm sorry, man that must really be freaking you out," he said.

Don nodded uncomfortably. "But because of my connection to the case, we probably shouldn't be speaking."

Michael shook his head. "I don't see why not," he said. "It's not like Lynnie and I are close. I'm only here because that Agent Sinclair insisted I might have some beneficial effect in the questioning, but she's not going to want to have anything to do with me."

"Why not?" Don asked.

"I'm the child who didn't really love our father, or so she's informed me many a time." Michael shook his head, and it seemed like he had a lot he'd been wanting to say for awhile because he didn't stop. "See, our dad died in the North Tower." Don nodded. He'd known that from her file. "And she tried to get into the military, tried all the branches, but they wouldn't take her. Matt quit school and joined the Army, and I just kept on following in Dad's footsteps as an accountant." He shrugged. "I'm evil incarnate." Don started to speak, but Michael just barreled on. "Oh wait, no, that's Osama Bin Laden. I'm just . . . I don't know, local evil. She wouldn't even talk to me at our brother's funeral."

"Your brother?" Don repeated stupidly.

"Yeah, Matt died in Iraq last year, and that seemed to sort of send her off the deep end. The only way I hear from her anymore is wacko e-mails about how America has lost its way and abandoned its soldiers."

"Whoa," Don said. "Well, um . . ."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the bullpen. Fogarty saw them and started over hurriedly.

"So, do you guys know why she did this?" Michael asked.

Don shook his head, and Fogarty stopped, looking perplexed. "We have no idea," he said. "Look, it's really not . . . I mean we shouldn't be talking."

"I don't know why not. I mean, you're a lot more affected by this than I am." Michael shook his head. "I'm guessing, from the look of you, that your brother's not a kid."

"No, he's about thirty," Don said. When Michael wasn't looking at him, he gave Fogarty a helpless look. "He's a mathematician. Dr. Charles Eppes."

"What?!" Michael exclaimed. "I attended a seminar of his once. Or not his, he was a guest speaker, talking about tax fraud." He shook his head. "This is whacked. Where is Lynnie?"

"This way," Fogarty said. Don followed them, and Michael continued to talk to him.

"I just don't get this. She's always on about how the government doesn't protect civilians enough. This doesn't make any sense." He saw her sitting alone in one of the interrogation rooms. "Can I go in?"

"Sure," Fogarty said. "We'll be recording."

"Of course, whatever." He walked straight in and dropped his briefcase on the floor. Before the door had completely shut, they heard him say, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Siblings," Fogarty said as they went into the observation room.

"You have any?" Don asked. Fogarty held up his hand with all five fingers outstretched. "Wow. Charlie was more than enough for me."

David was already in there with the monitor on. Dubois was speaking angrily. "– you doing here?" she demanded.

"They called me. Evidently they didn't know you disowned me."

"Well, you can just go back where you came from."

He gazed down at his sister for a long moment, then he sat down. "So, you've moved from solving crimes to committing them. Well done. I'm sure Dad would be very proud."

"Don't even pretend you care about Dad," she snarled. "If you'd cared, you'd have made changes to your life after he died. You –"

"Are we going to have the whole lecture, because I've heard it before." She shut up, looking offended. "But nowhere in that lecture is anything that makes participating in a kidnapping make sense."

"They tell you that?" she asked, pointing at the observation room. He nodded. "And of course you believed them."

"Should I not?" he asked. "Are you saying you didn't do it?" She turned her head away and didn't say anything. "You know that's as good as an admission as far as I'm concerned." He shook his head. "Do you really think Matt would have wanted this?"

"You didn't even know Matt. You walked out of our lives when he joined the Army."

There was a distinct pause and then Michael leaned forward. "You really have lost touch with reality, haven't you? I never walked out, Lynnie, you did. Matt and I kept in contact the whole time. Hell, he spent his last leave with me and Cindy."

"He did not!" Dubois said. "He spent it with friends."

Michael shook his head. "He knew you'd be mad," he said, "so he didn't tell you. He said it wasn't really lying because we . . ." He paused sounding choked up. "Because we were friends."

"He would have told me!" Dubois said, but her certainty seemed shaken.

"He hated that we weren't talking, Lynnie, and he'd hate this." He gestured at the interrogation room. "This isn't something he could ever have gone along with."

"You don't understand," she said.

"No, I don't."

"There's no way you could. You're just not –"

"Not what?" Michael asked. She looked down at the table and didn't answer. "Did you know that I'd met Dr. Eppes?"

Her head snapped up. "You what?"

"He was a guest lecturer at a seminar I went to last year." This seemed to discomfit Dubois somehow. "A seminar on tax fraud, actually. I remember thinking how interested Dad would have been."

"You don't know anything!"

"Maybe you can explain something to me. Why that guy? I mean, yeah, he's brilliant, but what on earth do your friends want him for?"

Fogarty leaned over to Don. "Tell me you didn't prime him with that question."

Don shook his head. "I barely got a word in edgewise."

"Her lawyer could have a field day with that time you two spent in the elevator, though." Don grimaced, well aware of the problem Fogarty was seeing. Then Fogarty's eyes got very intent. "Unless . . ." He picked up the phone and Don dismissed him from his attention. Even if they couldn't nail her for everything, if anything she said led them to Charlie, it would be worth it.

"Help me understand," Michael said.

"I don't know what they wanted him for. It wasn't my part of the project."

Don blinked. An admission. A straightforward admission.

"What was your part?"

"It doesn't matter, Mickey. It was for the best. It was necessary, to keep the nation safe."

"How does imprisoning a mathematician keep the nation safe?"

"The goal isn't to keep him prisoner, it's to use his knowledge in some way."

"His knowledge?" Michael repeated. "And what do you think they'll do with him when they're done with him?" Before she had a chance to answer, he changed the question. "Wait, I'm forgetting, you're one of 'them.' What would you do with him?"

"Let him go," she said.

"My God!" He leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "You're in the FBI, and you're as naive as a three-year-old."

"What do you know? These aren't criminals, these are patriots. They wouldn't kill an innocent man if they could avoid it."

"Patriots! You mean like Harrison Ford in _Patriot Games_ patriots?"

"What?"

"What kind of patriots kidnap a mathematician?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"What do they want with him, unless they're planning to build some kind of a weapon? And the government could hire him to do that!"

"But the government isn't!" Dubois replied.

"You mean he is building a weapon?"

"I don't know what he's doing, I told you that."

"I thought you were lying! How can you not know what he's doing? What kind of an idiot helps people kidnap someone without even knowing why?"

"I trust these people. I know who they are and I know what they believe and I trust them to do the right thing. It's something someone like you could never understand!"

"You mean someone sane?" he exclaimed. "God, Lynnie, who are these people? Where did you meet them? At some sorority mixer or alumni party?" Dubois' face went white, then red, then white again. "Oh my God, that's it! Some sorority girl got you into this?" He paused, but his sister didn't seem eager to speak. "He's been kidnapped by sorority girls?"

"Don't be any stupider than you have to be!" she snapped. "Just one of the women I know. She had this . . . I mean, it wasn't her plan. It's the plan of someone she knows, that she trusts."

"Do you really even know this woman?" he demanded. "Is this someone from your university or is it just some chick who wears the same letters on her sweater?"

"We were in school together!" Dubois retorted. "I know her very well, and she understands how I feel about Matt. She understands how I feel about you!"

"David?" Don said.

"On it." He hurried out, but Don remained riveted, though nothing was happening at the moment. Michael had gotten up to pace, muttering to himself.

"We should hire this guy," Fogarty said.

"I think it's only working because she's his sister," Don replied.

"So we give him a week to get to know someone and then unleash him. This is amazing."

"Yeah, but are we going to be able to use any of it?" Don hadn't noticed Megan coming in. "Her lawyer's not there."

"That's her brother, he knows it's being recorded, and I have proof that Don didn't prep him to be an interrogator. Everything she says is admissible."

"Proof?" Don asked.

"I got them to cut the elevator security footage to VCD," Fogarty said. "Maxwell says it clearly indicates that you two just met, and you try to get him to stop talking at least once, so you're in the clear."

"I don't care," Don said honestly. "All I want right now is to get Charlie back. Anything on top of that is gravy."

"I can understand that," Fogarty said. "But if you don't mind, I'll dot the i's and cross the t's anyway."

"As long as it doesn't get in the way," Don said. Neither of his companions replied to that because Michael started speaking again.

"Lynnie, there is a guy out there, a man with a brother who doesn't know where he is. Think about those weeks when we didn't know where Mattie was. I know you were worried, you e-mailed me five times a day to see if I'd heard from him." Her face was stony. "I don't know what the rest of his family is like, but I'm guessing you do?" She shrugged. "He have any other siblings?" She didn't reply. "He have parents?"

Don bit his lips. This was hitting a little close to home.

"Lynnie, you're breaking up another family. How can that be right, no matter what the reason? And what happens if he doesn't go along with whatever your friends want him to do?"

"He'll go along. He's not . . ." She shook her head. "He won't resist for long."

Michael seemed dumbfounded by this statement, and Don found himself holding back a rage that he hadn't known he possessed until this moment. For that bitch to just off-handedly say that Charlie wouldn't resist, that he would give in. Had she ever even met Charlie?

"Don!" Megan was grabbing his wrist. He tried to pull away, but she held on. "Don, you're hurting yourself." Fogarty kept his eyes pointed towards the interrogation room when Don opened his fist to reveal half moon cuts in the flesh. She handed him a handkerchief. "Put some pressure on those and quit it," she muttered, then went back and sat down.

"What makes you so sure of that?" Michael asked after a short silence.

"Everyone knows how he reacts to certain kinds of pressure," she said. "He's around here a lot, working on cases."

"If he works for the FBI –"

"Consults, and even then, he goes to more crime scenes than I do." Don detected resentment in that tone, and wondered if there wasn't something more to her willingness to help in this than met the eye. "But he'll help. He'll do what he has to do."

"What if he doesn't?"

She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. He will."

"She's convinced herself," Megan said. "She's really off her nut."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Fogarty asked.

Megan nodded. "I'll probably express it differently in my report, but yes."

Michael sank back into his chair. "Lynnie, he's a good guy. He doesn't deserve 'certain kinds of pressure.' What does that mean, anyway? If they threaten him enough, you think he'll cave? You've got see how wrong this is."

"Mickey, it's –" She shook her head. "It's the right thing to do."

"Would Dad approve?" Michael asked. "Honestly, now, sis, would Dad approve?"

"Dad didn't get to live in this world, Mickey," Dubois said. "And Matt was an idealist. It takes a pragmatist to get by when the government is shirking its duties."

"For a patriot, you certainly seem pretty pissed off at the government."

"A patriot can disagree with the sitting administration. The president has lost his way. We're just going to take steps to show him the path again."

"Okay, that's alarming," Fogarty said.

"You're telling me."

"What are you planning, Lynnie?" Michael asked, sounding appalled.

"I told you, I don't know the details."

"Are you going to kill the president?"

"Of course not!" Dubois exclaimed. "I'm not crazy!"

Michael let out a hoarse bark of laughter. "You helped kidnap a world famous mathematician to do God knows what, and you think the people you helped are just going to let him go?"

"I know they're going to," she declared.

"What will happen then? When he tells everyone what they had him do?"

"By then it will be too late." Don clenched his teeth against impotent curses that would obscure his hearing and achieve nothing.

"Too late? Why?"

"Because by then the right steps will have been taken, and they won't be reversible. And they'll be heroes."

"Who will be?"

"We all will be."

"You don't even know what they're going to do, and you think they'll be heroes?"

"I know what the ultimate goal is," she said.

"What's that?"

"To bring democracy to the Middle East," she said defiantly. "The whole Middle East."

There was silence in both rooms for a few seconds, and then Michael said, "Are you taking your meds?"

"I don't need them," she replied.

"Meds?" Don repeated.

"Megan?"

"There was nothing in her file," she said. "Not a thing."

"You don't just stop needing lithium, Lynnie! I wondered how you got a job here in the first place, but . . . hell and damnation, what have you done?"

The door to the interrogation room opened abruptly. "Who the hell are you?"

"Her brother!" Michael snapped. "Who the hell are you?"

"Her lawyer."

"You asked for a lawyer?"

"Of course," Dubois exclaimed.

"Well, then maybe he can explain why you should be cooperating with instead of obstructing this whole investigation. Kidnapping . . . has anyone been hurt?"

"Sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

"Sacrifices? Oh God, sacrifices means people died. Did people die?"

"Mr. Dubois, you do realize that this is an interrogation room?"

"Yes."

"And that you can be observed?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you talking so freely?"

"Because I want my sister to get the help she needs, not wind up in some prison somewhere enjoying her paranoid fantasies on her own."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's schizophrenic. It was diagnosed in high school. That's why the military wouldn't take her, but she must have . . ." He walked over to his sister and put an arm around her. "I should have come back sooner, checked up on you, but Matt didn't seem worried, and he'd been visiting you."

"I don't need the lithium, Mickey. The doctor said so in college."

David came into the observation room. "I've got the name. Julia Thomasson."

"Where is she?"

"She dropped out of sight over a year ago, but she's on a watch list."

"And this didn't come to our attention?"

"Evidently sorority mixers don't rate high on the list of gatherings to monitor," David said.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Eventually, Charlie stopped pacing because he ran out of steam, even if he didn't run out of frustration. He thumped down on the mattress and tried to figure out another approach to explain the situation to Bill. He had to listen, he had to understand.

Charlie buried his face in his hands. How to win over an antagonistic audience? He was no fool, he recognized the anger that had been present in Bill's reaction. He had to somehow get past the anger to the brain behind the emotion. He had to get the man thinking. Otherwise, he didn't know what he was going to do, because there was no way he could plan the two attacks he'd been presented with. There was no way he could plan any attack. He didn't want to be party to hurting people.

The door opened suddenly and Charlie jumped to his feet. The guards walked in and took out the dirty clothes and towels Charlie had left in a pile in the bathroom. One of them brought a clean set of clothes in and put it on the mattress next to where Charlie was standing, and they replaced the linens in the bathroom. "Hi," Charlie said. "What's your name?" The man turned away as if Charlie hadn't even spoken.

Bill appeared in the doorway. "I told you, Dr. Eppes, they won't speak to you," he said, his voice all suave and polite again.

"Why not?" Charlie asked.

"Come out into the work room again," Bill said, then disappeared.

Charlie took a deep breath and walked out. All the math he'd done had been erased. He walked straight to one of the whiteboards and picked up a marker. "If you will just give me a chance to explain this all to you, I think you'll agree that your plan is –"

"Dr. Eppes, I'm not interested," Bill said. "Come sit down."

"But this is important," Charlie said earnestly. "It matters, and if you have the respect for me that you say you do, you should be willing to give me your attention."

Bill shook his head. "There is no point in wasting either your time or mine, Dr. Eppes. Nothing you say is going to prevent the attacks, however you are in a position to minimize the damage caused. You have the ability to weigh impact against effect in a way that none of us do."

"To calculate acceptable losses?" Charlie asked, capping the marker and passing it back and forth between his hands.

"Exactly."

"You see, there's the problem. To me, there are no acceptable losses when it comes to human life."

"Then you value a murderer's life the same as that of an innocent child?"

"It's not that simple," Charlie said. "And that's not the problem you've posed for me." He walked over to the file and flipped it open. "You want me to help you put together an assault on a military base that you state clearly has civilians living near it." He turned to the other file and tapped it. "You want me to calculate the best location and size of attack on a civilian target in Los Angeles. I can't do that. I can't and I won't."

"Your country needs you, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie turned his back on Bill and walked back over to the whiteboard.. He gazed silently at the blank expanse and took a deep breath. Turning, he said, "Then my country can ask me nicely." Bill seemed taken aback by the remark. Charlie shook his head. "You're not my country, you're an individual with an agenda that I don't happen to agree with."

For a moment, Bill's eyes glittered with fury behind his mask, and Charlie's gut turned over queasily. He didn't know what would tip this very controlled man into uncontrolled action. When he spoke, though, Bill's voice was calm and affable.

"I expected resistance, Dr. Eppes. I confess, I did not anticipate your spirited attempt to dissuade me from my course, but that is neither here nor there." Charlie just waited, leaning tensely against the whiteboard at his back, fiddling absently with the marker in his hand. "What you need to understand, however, is that I am not prepared to accept your refusal."

Charlie pressed his lips together and grimaced. "Accept it or not, it won't change. I will not help you kill people."

"I'm not giving you a choice, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie shrugged. It cost him a lot of effort to put on this solid, relaxed front, but he could not and would not back down. "I always have a choice," he said.

There was silence for several long, agonizing minutes. Charlie could almost feel the seconds ticking past. Finally, Bill stood up. "I suppose you do. And this evening you have chosen to forego food until you relent."

Charlie stood up straight. "You're not going to feed me unless I work?" he asked incredulously. "You're sending me to bed without supper?"

"It's a little more than that, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie blinked at him. "So, you plan to starve me into submission." Bill didn't respond. "Are you, in fact, willing to starve me to death if I don't cooperate?"

"I don't think it will get that far, Dr. Eppes."

"But hypothetically, are you?"

"This discussion is pointless. Please return to your room."

Charlie glanced at the door to the little cell. "That is not my room," he said, pointing with the marker. "That is the prison cell you are currently forcing me to inhabit, but it is in no way mine."

"I am not interested in semantic games. Put him in his room."

Charlie watched the approach of the guards and then stood away from the wall. "No, I'll go. There's no need for force." He walked over to the door to his cell. He paused just as he reached it and turned around. The guards were on either side of this door now, so he had a clear line of sight to Bill. "You do realize, of course, that you're only proving yourselves to be the type of people I would never willingly help."

"Good night, Dr. Eppes," Bill said formally.

"Good night," Charlie said, and he stepped through the door. One of the guards held out a hand towards the marker, and Charlie rolled his eyes. He handed it over with a grimace. The guards shut the door, and he took in a deep breath. He didn't think, from Bill's response, that he would be starved to death. The question remained, how far would it go before they decided to try something else?

When Charlie stripped off his clothes to take a bath, a piece of chalk fell out of his pocket and broke into three pieces on the floor. He stared at it for a moment, then picked the pieces up. The way they kept taking the whiteboard markers away, he suspected they wouldn't have let him keep the chalk if they'd known he had it, which meant they'd take it away if they found it now.

He looked up. Hiding places. He could keep it in the pockets of the sweats they gave him, but if the guys searched him, they'd find it. After a few moments of contemplation, he tucked a piece into the toilet paper roll. He put the other two pieces in the pocket of the fresh pair of pants and then climbed into the tub.

The lights went out while he was still in the water, and he sighed irritably. He got out of the tub and felt around for the towels, dried off and pulled on his clothes. The pieces of chalk jounced around in his pocket. He had to come up with another hiding place for at least one of them, and now he had to do it in the pitch dark.

He went and sat down on the bed, his gut rumbling. It was beginning to ache, and he knew he'd feel worse in the morning. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to sleep at this point. Reaching out, he punched the pillow a couple of times and got an idea. He took one of the pieces of chalk and, putting his arm all the way into the pillowcase, he deposited the chalk in one of the far corners.

Neither spot was much of a hiding place, but he didn't have a lot of options. He lay flat on his back and imagined numbers against the blackness. Maybe he could make a breakthrough in cognitive emergence with this enforced solitude.

* * *

Plugging Julia Thomasson into the network diagram evidently opened up a whole lot of new pathways. Amita and Larry were keeping them hopping, finding new people to talk to and researching the names they were turning up in e-mail and phone lists.

Each person knew more people, and it just seemed to expand exponentially. A new cluster of people from DC turned up and he stared at the list for a minute. They were doing as many personal interviews as possible, which meant they had to get other offices to do some of the work for them. He picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. He only realized it was Sunday after the phone started ringing, but he could always leave voice mail. To his surprise, the call was picked up after only two rings.

"Agent Lake."

"Terry, it's Don."

"Don, how are you?" She sounded pleased to hear from him, but tired. "How's Charlie?"

Don blinked. The situation had consumed his whole attention for so long that it never occurred to him that she might not have heard. "You haven't heard?"

"I've been on a stake out for three days, just got back in this morning." That explained the weariness in her voice, but her tone sharpened as she asked, "What haven't I heard?"

Don didn't really want to have to tell Terry. She knew him well enough to see through his facade. He cleared his throat. "Charlie . . . Charlie's been kidnapped."

He heard her breath catch. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "What . . . how?"

"Someone's been after him for more than a week, in fact, the first attack was two weeks ago today, and they got him on Friday."

"My God, Don, are you okay? And your father, is he –"

"We're fine, I'm more worried about Charlie."

"Of course, but – what can I do to help?"

"Amita and Larry are working on some stuff Charlie started on Thursday, some kind of group network diagram thing. Anyway, I've got a stack of people we need to talk to in DC. Can you make that happen for me?"

"Sure, Don. Get me the names, and what do I need to ask them?"

"Here, I'm putting it all in an e-mail."

"How are you holding together, Don?"

"Fine," he said shortly. He wasn't getting into an emotional conversation. He didn't need it, and it wouldn't help. She seemed to pick up on that, because she got very business-like. He sent the e-mail and promised to pass on her love to his father.

It got to be Sunday evening, and Don felt like they were running in place. They had loads of information, but none of it seemed to lead anywhere specific. He kept going into the conference room where Amita and Larry had been working almost nonstop for two days. No one had forced them to go home, but Larry had taken the simple expedient of balling up his jacket and going to sleep on the floor using it as a pillow. Amita seemed to be running on adrenaline and caffeine, but Don knew she'd flag soon.

A moment later, she stumbled as she took a step back from her calculations to look at the whole board. He leapt forward and steadied her. "You need some sleep, I think," he said, looking down into her bloodshot eyes.

She shook her head. "Charlie's out there – he needs –"

"He needs clear heads and healthy minds. I can have someone run you over to the house for a few hours of sleep and some dinner."

"Don, I can't stop, what if those few hours are all that could make the difference? I can't –" Her balance gave a little again, and he guided her to a chair.

"Much as I sympathize with you, I'm sending you to my father." She rubbed her forehead. "I'll call you if there's any news at all."

"I can keep going," she said.

"Amita, you haven't so much as closed your eyes for two days. Go. I'll call you later." Once he'd sent her off, he went back to work. Maybe he'd follow Larry's example and catch a catnap later.

* * *

Charlie woke up repeatedly to darkness and his stomach trying to wrap itself around his spine. He had a sense of hours passing between awakenings, but no clear idea of how many. He wondered if they were changing the lengths of the dark and light times to confuse his already beleaguered time sense.

Eventually, the lights came on while he lay on his back, feeling sorry for himself. Blinking, he sat up and his eyes were caught by the wide expanse of wall beside the door. An idea struck him powerfully, and he leapt up, feeling in his pocket for the chalk. Grimacing at the way he blocked his own light, he began to write rapidly on the wall. It wasn't easy to see, white chalk against gray concrete, but he managed. He kept working until he heard the door unlatch. Hastily, he shoved the stub of chalk into his pocket and stepped away from the wall. His head spun a little, and he sat down rather suddenly on the mattress when his ankles connected with it. The jolt of the drop set his head to aching.

The door opened and two of the guards came in. As they had the day before, they collected Charlie's dirty clothes and used towels. An odor came in with them, of eggs and toast. Not sure what it meant, he rose and went to the doorway. Bill sat at his accustomed place, and there was a tray of food about three feet in front of the spot Charlie had chosen.

"Dr. Eppes, please come and have a seat," Bill said genially. "I'm sure you're hungry."

He certainly was. His stomach wanted to drag him over to that chair. He remained in the doorway, however, eyeing the tray suspiciously. "Have you changed your mind?" he asked Bill. He took a few steps out into the room to allow the guys with his laundry to leave. He kept his eyes on Bill's face, not on the food.

Bill leaned forward, and there was a smile in his voice when he spoke. "The relevant question is whether or not you have changed your mind."

Charlie set his jaw angrily. "No, I haven't." He turned to go back into his cell where he at least didn't have to look at the food he was being denied. He found himself nose to breastbone with a guard, and the door to the cell was closed.

Startled by the man's proximity, he stumbled backwards with a little cry of alarm. He caught his balance, though, and tried to regain his dignity.

"Sit down before you fall down, Dr. Eppes," Bill advised, and the smile was still there in his voice.

"Can you remove that if you're not going to let me have it?" Charlie asked irritably.

Bill shook his head. "Consider it added incentive," he said, sounding insufferably amused by Charlie's reaction.

"Fine!" Charlie snapped. "Fine, if that's how you want it, fine!"

"Come and sit down."

Charlie was staring at the whiteboards, his idea burning holes in his brain. "I'd rather not, thank you," he said, drifting closer to one of the boards.

"Dr. Eppes." Charlie ignored him, letting the numbers play on the board in his mind. "Dr. Eppes!" Bill called loudly.

His chain of thought broken, Charlie turned around. "What?" he demanded.

Bill was standing now. "I may not be able to force you to think about what I want you to," he said, walking over to stand face to face with Charlie, intruding on his space. "Nor to work on what I want you to, but I can certainly prevent you from working on what I don't want you to."

"I don't see how," Charlie said, taking a step back. "I don't have to write anything down. It just makes it easier."

"Then I can make it harder," Bill said calmly. The fire in his blue eyes alone betrayed his anger. "Now, sit down." Charlie glared at him and didn't move. "Sit down or I will have the boys sit you down."

Charlie ground his teeth and walked over to the chair. He waited until Bill had seated himself again, then flipped the chair around and sat down with his back to his captor. He stared at the board on the opposite wall, continuing to envision the numbers.

A moment later, one of the guards walked up, grabbed him by the left arm and yanked him to his feet. He flipped the chair back around and sat Charlie down with a bone-jarring thud. Charlie clenched his fists in his lap and waited for the guard to move away. He didn't. He positioned himself behind the chair, out of Charlie's line of sight. Charlie could hear him breathing through the mask, but he couldn't see him. He twisted his neck uncomfortably, the awareness of the presence behind him creeping him out a little.

This position put the tray of congealing eggs and cold toast in his line of sight. Charlie sighed and looked up over Bill's head at the whiteboard behind him. He'd just have to ignore them as well as Bill. He could do that.

"So, Dr. Eppes, tell me what it was like to go to college at thirteen."

The question was so unexpected that it pulled Charlie out of his self-imposed isolation. "I beg your pardon?" he exclaimed.

"What was it like? I've often wondered."

"No," Charlie said incredulously.

"Come now, Dr. Eppes, we have to have some conversation."

Charlie shook his head. "No, we don't." He divorced his mind from the proceedings and began to contemplate his insight. It wasn't cognitive emergence, but if he was right, it could have interesting implications for computer speed and efficiency. After awhile, he became aware of a hand on his shoulder. He disregarded it the best he could. It was a minor distraction. Then the hand shook him and burst his math bubble.

"Hey!" Charlie glared up at the faceless guard, then glared at Bill. "It's fascinating how they can touch me, but they can't talk to me, and you talk to me but don't touch me. Is there some strategy going on with that? Because it's kind of weird."

"This is not a game, Dr. Eppes," Bill said.

"Of course it is," Charlie said. "Game theory would illustrate our positions quite clearly." He stood up and started towards one of the whiteboards before he thought about it. "I can show –" The guard behind him caught him by the shoulders and placed him firmly back into his chair. Charlie blinked away the pain and tried to control his panicked reaction to all this manhandling. Panic would get him nowhere.

"I'm not interested in your analysis of our positions, Dr. Eppes," Bill said. "When I say this is not a game, I mean that there are serious consequences to your refusal to comply."

"Game theory accounts for consequences," Charlie said flatly. "I recognize the consequences, for me and for you, and have made my decisions accordingly." He crossed his arms and looked at the whiteboard over Bill's head again, but he had more difficulty concentrating. He kept expecting the man behind him to do something, and that made him jumpy.

"Dr. Eppes, don't you think you should reconsider? I could send for fresh food, and we could get down to a serious discussion of –"

"Why would I reconsider?" Charlie asked, irritated by this condescending attitude. "Nothing has changed."

"You're hungrier today than you were yesterday," Bill pointed out.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "That isn't a real change," he said. "It's a continuation of the current situation. Do you really think I didn't take the fact that my hunger would grow as the days passed into my consideration of the consequences?"

"Of course, Dr. Eppes," Bill said.

Charlie swallowed back the tirade he wanted to launch into. He wasn't going to convince this bastard any more than the bastard was going to convince him. These people didn't know him if they thought that he would kill people to avoid a little hunger, especially when he knew that Don would be here soon. Don, Colby, Megan, David, Fogarty and any of his bodyguards that were . . . images flashed in his mind, still pictures with mathematical calculations attached to them, but these were faces he knew, frightened, angry faces. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough to send his blood pressure rocketing. "You killed them, didn't you?" he exclaimed, his crossed arms dropping to his sides as he sat forward suddenly. "Oh God! How many of them did you kill?

"Dr. Eppes, that's not relevant," Bill said, and Charlie's temper snapped.

He stood up sharply, his knees shoving the chair backwards as he leaned across the table. "Not relevant?" Charlie demanded. "You killed men who had never done you any harm just to . . ." His right hand came up automatically to the side of his face that had been spattered with blood. "You sprayed me with . . . whose blood was it?" All the power had gone out of his voice. When hands came down on his shoulders, he jumped sideways, startled, and lashed out. His hand hit Kevlar covered with nylon, hurting him more than it affected the man he'd struck. "You bastards!" he shouted, lurching away as the guard started to grab his arm. "They were just doing their jobs, and they were good guys! How many of them did you kill?"

"All of them," Bill said, and Charlie turned to face him, fury making him shake. "Our goal is important, and we will not let anything stand in our way, not six FBI bodyguards, and not the moral scruples of a mathematician."

"I will never help you!" Charlie growled. Hands seized him from behind. He'd forgotten about the other guard that was in the room, and his panic burst forth from control. He struggled against the iron hands that held his arms, kicking back and trying to get loose. Far too quickly, he found himself back in his chair, hands on his shoulders holding him there when he tried to get up again.

"Calm yourself, Dr. Eppes, don't make us hurt you to keep you from hurting yourself."

Charlie was shaking all over, and the images kept playing themselves in his head. He knew that there was a lot missing, that he had probably seen who died and how, but he couldn't remember anything else. Was it the drug they'd given him that had blocked his memory? All he knew for certain was that those men had died for him, and he wasn't going to make their sacrifice for nothing. He would never have given in, but this just strengthened his resolve.

He tried to duck out from under the hands on his shoulders. "Get your hands off me!" he growled. He saw Bill nod, and the man stepped back. Charlie rubbed his face and was startled to find that his cheeks were wet. His anger required further outlet. He leaned forward abruptly and shoved the tray violently off the table. The dishes shattered, throwing stoneware and glass shrapnel around the room along with eggs. Charlie watched it fall, reveling in the clean mathematical structure of the impact and subsequent dispersal of debris. He looked up into Bill's startled eyes. "Keep your damned food!"

"Put him back in his room," Bill said. "We're not getting any sense of out of him today."

"You wouldn't recognize sense if it bit you in the ass!" Charlie snarled over his shoulder as the guards took him and shoved him through the door, slamming it behind him. They'd put more power behind the shove than was strictly necessary, and he landed hard on his knees on the floor. He jumped up and slammed his fists against the door. After a few moments of fruitless pounding, Charlie turned around and slid down the panel to sit on the floor. He stayed there, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead on them.

Bill didn't come back before the room went dark for the night. Charlie looked up at the unseen ceiling. It was either Sunday or Monday night. They'd known the kidnappers were good. Evidently they were very good.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

At dawn on Monday, Don was drinking coffee at his computer. Amita was back, but she and Larry were stymied for the moment, so they were helping with some of the computer searches.

David was working with Fogarty, so Megan had teamed with Colby to do some local interviews. It had been decided on a higher level that Don would not do face to face interviews. Even if he managed to keep calm, the fact that his brother was the focus of the case could have an intimidation factor. People might hide things they knew would upset him so as to avoid his losing control. Little as he liked it, he had to accept it, and they did need someone to coordinate at headquarters. By default, that job had fallen on his shoulders.

He spent the morning collating the reports that were coming in from all over the country and passing the raw data on to Larry and Amita, as well as trying to make connections for himself.

He was all too aware that they were well past the forty-eight hour marker, and as such, their chances of finding Charlie had dropped significantly, at least according to the statistics. Every minute that passed took a toll on those odds, and, though Don would never let any kind of statistics stop him from finding his brother, the knowledge lurked in the back of his mind and ambushed him at odd moments as an invitation to despair. Thus far he had resisted, but each episode sapped his energy a bit more.

It was a drain he couldn't really afford, but couldn't seem to avoid. He put it out of his thoughts as often as it popped up and got on with things.

* * *

Megan stared at the photograph she had of Julia Thomasson. She looked like the prototypical sorority girl, tall, blond, beautiful. She'd gotten excellent grades in history, and made a name for herself at her university for being adamantly opposed to gun control and most government interference with individuals' rights. She'd followed that up by getting her masters in political science, but then dropped out during her Ph.D. program, apparently to join a militant organization that advocated a very conservative interpretation of the constitution. Megan wondered dryly if that included counting black Americans as a fraction of a person for census and tax purposes.

After that she'd become involved in progressively more radical groups, been active in a number of pro-war rallies and been arrested for multiple gun violations. She was suspected of being part of a network of underground gun dealers who sold illegal weapons all over the country, but as David had said, she'd dropped completely out of sight a year ago.

"Exes," Colby said with relish as they got out of the car. "One of the biggest boons known to the law enforcement community."

"Yeah," Megan said, "you'd think people with illegal plans would realize that it's in their best interests to stay on good terms with their exes." Grinning, she pressed the doorbell for Mark Butler and waited.

Footsteps inside the apartment heralded his coming, and the door opened to reveal a tall, skinny man with red hair and freckles. He looked at them for a moment, and said, "Can I help you?"

"We're looking for Mark Butler," Megan said.

"That's me." He glanced back and forth between them. "LAPD?" he guessed.

"FBI," Colby replied, giving Megan a startled look.

"What's she done now?" he asked, stepping back to let them in.

"Who do you mean?" Megan asked as she followed him inside.

"Julie," he said. Megan raised her eyebrows. "Julie Thomasson. She is why you're here, isn't she?"

"Yes," Megan said, blinking and glancing at Colby.

He seemed to notice their surprise, because he gave them an odd sort of smile and shrugged. "I get periodic visits from the alphabet soup brigade. FBI, ATF, LAPD, usually asking questions on behalf of some other jurisdiction." He indicated a couple of chairs in his living room. "Six months of my life and all I have to show for it is a dog and my name attached permanently to a wanted fugitive."

"That's inconvenient," Colby said. "Have you heard from her lately?"

"Nope," Butler replied. "I told ATF I'd call if she contacted me again."

"Of course," Megan said. "Can you give us a list of her friends, or anyone she might call for help? Do you know where any of her family is?"

"Her mom's in Baton Rouge," he said. "I don't know of any other family. Other than that . . ." He stood up and walked over to his computer. "After the first four times, I wrote it down so I wouldn't have to keep trying to remember it. Has one of you got an e-mail address I can send it to?"

A little bemused by Butler's efficiency, Megan gave him Don's and called ahead to warn him it was coming while Colby asked their remaining questions, but Butler didn't know anything useful. He saw them out, and as they went down his front steps, he said, "Sorry I couldn't be more help. Take it from me, never date anyone because they seem dangerous or exciting. It's a pain in the ass. I swear, I'll be fifty with grandchildren, and people will still come around asking questions about Julie."

Colby shook his head. "Not if we catch up with her," he said.

"You mean she'll get life?" Butler asked curiously.

"No, I mean she'll get death," Colby replied flatly. Megan gave him a dubious look, but she didn't say anything.

Colby's remark seemed to stun Butler into silence, and they took their leave.

* * *

When the lights came on, Charlie wondered if it was Monday or Tuesday. He'd woken several times in the night covered with cold sweat, shaking from dreams he couldn't remember. He suspected that more memories of the capture were surfacing, and, given his reactions, he wasn't sure he wanted them to.

He was in the bathroom when the door opened, brushing his teeth. They'd provided soap, shampoo, toothpaste, but no razor and no shaving cream. He was getting tired of the beard, but he wasn't going to ask for anything. There was a knock at the door, and he ignored it. A moment later, it opened, and he didn't react to that either. He wasn't naked, and he wasn't interested. He just kept brushing his teeth. A guard came in and collected the laundry. Charlie finished his ablutions and left the bathroom.

Bill stood in the doorway. "Good morning, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie looked at him, then looked away, walking over to sit down on the mattress. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and started contemplating the idea he'd had the day before, trying to put his current circumstances out of his mind.

"Dr. Eppes, it's polite to respond when someone greets you," Bill said.

Charlie continued to ignore him, though he was finding concentration hard to achieve. Thoughts of food kept interfering.

Bill walked over and squatted in front of him. "Dr. Eppes, come out into the work room."

Charlie looked through him. He might not be able to achieve an appropriate level of concentration, but he was damned if he was going to pay any attention to that bastard. After a couple more attempts to get him to respond, Bill stood up. A few moments later, two guards approached Charlie. Grabbing his arms, they forced him to stand and marched him into the work room. He heard the cell door close behind him. This morning there was no breakfast on the table. The mess he'd made had been cleared away, though he could see spots on the concrete floor where the eggs had made an indelible impression.

The guards sat him down, and Charlie simply continued his attempts to intensify his concentration to the point where he could work his math in his head. There was a loud rumbling from his gut, and the pain there was increasing, but he didn't have to react to it so he didn't.

The main door opened, and Charlie glanced to the side to see what could be seen through it. The space beyond was entirely dark, obscuring anything but the man coming through the door with a fresh tray of food. Charlie sighed and turned his attention forward again. He could refuse to look at it, but he couldn't refuse to smell it. The delectable odor of hamburger wafted up his nostrils, into his brain, and his gut reacted to it by cramping angrily. Charlie stiffened with the pain, but nausea rose as well, blocking the desire for the food. He was reaching the point where food was as nauseating as it was desirable. He continued to look forward, ignoring the food and the men in the room.

"Dr. Eppes, you have to acknowledge my presence," Bill said. Charlie continued to blink silently at the board above Bill's head. "I know you're aware of me, and I know you can hear me. I've looked into game theory, and from what I can see, it dictates that you should give in. There are no benefits to refusing to help us. If you assume that you will be rescued, giving in doesn't do you any harm, because we have tasks after the ones we've already proposed."

Charlie was vaguely amused that the man believed a brief perusal of some book or web page about game theory made him able to discourse on the matter.

"If you assume that you won't be rescued – a much more likely scenario – then giving in gives you positive benefits. You will be fed, and fed well. When your tasks are complete and the war is a fait accompli, you will be released to go about your normal life, none the worse for wear."

Charlie couldn't resist a derisive smirk and head shake. The man had no grasp of what he was talking about.

"Don't you see? Refusing to work has nothing but negative outcomes, Dr. Eppes. Agreeing to work has nothing but positive outcomes."

Charlie saw nothing but negative outcomes to engaging in conversation with Bill, so he continued to try and focus on his calculations, not that he was getting anywhere with them. There was a silence, and Charlie wondered what strategy Bill would try next.

After several minutes, Bill came around the table and leaned against the corner. "Dr. Eppes, consider this. Six men died trying to keep you safe. Another was injured. If you continue to hold out against us and we kill you, you will make their sacrifice meaningless."

Charlie had to remind himself not to respond. Engaging with Bill achieved nothing.

"Dr. Eppes," Bill said, and his voice vibrated with aggrieved disappointment. "How can you sit there and betray their sacrifice?"

"Ha!" Charlie growled before he could stop himself, glaring at Bill. He forced himself to look away again. Unfortunately, all he could think about was food. He'd already estimated the weight and mass of the hamburger, and he'd guessed the number of fries based on the general size and the way they sat on the plate. Over the past day or so, he'd noticed that his thoughts drifted frequently to food, even in his dreams. The dreams he could remember all seemed to be about Thanksgiving dinner, or of cooking dinner for Don and Dad, or of excellent meals he'd eaten in restaurants. Regardless, food was not a soothing thought at the moment, so he tried to force his mind away from gauging the density of the hamburger bun. Even his math was about food.

"You said they were good men, obviously they had value to you." Charlie wished he could force himself not to hear the man's voice, but he wasn't able to sink himself into that level of concentration. "They died to save you. Even if they failed, their deaths have value as well. By not taking actions to save yourself, you negate the value of their sacrifice."

"That value is absolute," Charlie snapped back without thinking. "Nothing you or I, or anyone could do can negate it."

"Perhaps that's so," Bill said, showing no triumph over having gotten Charlie to talk. Charlie turned his head again, trying to bring himself back under the minimal control he'd had earlier. Even if he couldn't get himself to do anything specific, he should be able to keep himself from responding. "Perhaps their sacrifice has a value that can't be changed by your actions. But you can squander it, waste it, by not preserving that which they died to save."

Pointing out the fallacies in Bill's argument would have no benefit. Charlie knew that. Convincing them that he would never cooperate could mean a quick death and burial where no one would ever find his body. If they remained unconvinced, he would live longer, and he had to live long enough for Don and the others to find him.

"Consider the other consequences of your actions. If you die, what will the effect be on your family, on Don and your father?" Charlie grit his teeth and kept his eyes focused on the whiteboard, but his attention could not be pulled away from Bill talking about his father and brother. "Your father's health is good, we checked into that, but how will he take losing his youngest son? Your brother, for all the disagreements you've had, clearly dotes on you, and losing you will make him feel a failure. How will he handle that? Will he handle it? And will your father blame him for your death? An estrangement would be a terrible thing on top of losing you."

Charlie heard all of what Bill said, and the images washed over him. His father's face after his mother's death, his father's anger on occasions when Don had allowed Charlie to do something he perceived as risky, he could see the outcome that Bill was painting. But equally, he could see men and women and children dying in Iran and Los Angeles. Even if the Los Angeles attack wasn't carried out because there was a sufficient reciprocal attack, that would make them no less responsible for that attack and its related deaths because they intended to spark such a reciprocal attack. He could see his father and Don's reactions of horror as they realized that Charlie had helped to cause those deaths, that carnage. He didn't respond. What could he say that a man like Bill would understand? They spoke different languages, and Charlie didn't mean math.

Bill stopped talking for a long moment, and he moved away. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie could see the man pacing.

Charlie rose. The guard started to grab him, but he moved away. "I have to use the bathroom," he said.

They stepped away and one of them opened the door to Charlie's cell. Charlie went into the bathroom and buried his face in his hands. He used the facilities and wondered how long he could stay in there before they came in to get him. He lingered a long time before finally emerging, surprised that no one had come to fetch him. When he opened the door, he found out why. They had shut him in again.

He looked at the wall by the door. The writing there was faint, and either his captors hadn't noticed it or they didn't care. Charlie didn't know, but it didn't much matter. He felt in his pocket for the stub of chalk and continued what he'd started.

* * *

Don awoke from a nap on the break room sofa feeling bruised and exhausted, but better than when he'd lain down. He rolled over and looked at the clock on the wall. It was still Monday, but not for much longer. Someone would have come and found him if there had been any movement in the case, so Charlie was as far from him now as he'd been before Don had gone to sleep. He sat up and stretched. He should probably call and check on his father, but he couldn't face the questions. He'd have to trust that his father knew Don wouldn't keep him in the dark if there was progress.

He got a cup of coffee and bought some chips and a candy bar from the vending machine, then went back to the bullpen. Amita wasn't in the conference room, and Larry was on the floor, using his jacket as a pillow again. The only member of his team that was visible was Colby, and he appeared to be dozing with his head down on his desk.

Don walked up and touched his shoulder gently. Colby sat up, blinking and turned to see him. "Hey, Don, you look like hell."

"Yeah, well, you have blotter face," Don said. "Where is everyone?"

"Megan dragged Amita out of here to feed her. David and Fogarty have gone home to sleep. Your father called around ten to ask after you, and I told him you were sleeping."

Don sat down in his chair and powered his machine up. He opened the chips and started munching. "What do you suppose they're doing to him?" he asked. When Colby didn't answer, he looked over at the ex-soldier. Colby was looking at his own computer screen, behaving as if he hadn't heard Don's question. "Well?"

"I think there's not much point in thinking about it," Colby said.

"They've had him for three and a half days now." Don started sorting through his e-mails. "He won't cooperate. I told him to, but I know Charlie, and he won't."

"I know, Don," Colby said. "But here's the thing, they put a lot of effort into getting hold of him. They're not going to . . ." Colby paused and Don looked up. "They're not going to kill him this quickly. You don't put six months into stalking someone and then kill him the first or even the fifth time he says no."

"Which leads back to the question of what they are doing to him," Don said, and he saw Colby close his eyes.

"Don, we'll know when we know," Colby said. "Spending a lot of time thinking about it now only distracts from what we have to do."

"I'm not distracted," Don said.

Colby just looked at him for a couple of moments. "You're not?" he asked finally.

"No, I'm not," Don replied without looking at him.

"So, you don't give a damn what happens to your brother?"

Rage suffused Don abruptly and he turned on Colby. "That is _not_ what I said!" he shouted.

Colby gestured at his reaction. "Distracted." Don let out a growl of frustration, and Colby leaned across to put a hand on his shoulder. "Don, trust me, thinking about that will get you nowhere. Charlie's a tough kid. He'll be fine."

Don knit his brows. "You know, Colby, that 'kid' is your age."

"Your point?"

Don shrugged. "I don't know."

* * *

When the lights came on in the morning, Charlie immediately got up and started work on the wall. He'd worked until the lights went out the day before, and he'd only stopped then because he couldn't see anymore. He was so absorbed that he didn't hear the door open, and the first sign that he had that there was anyone in the room was when Bill spoke.

"How clever of you, Dr. Eppes." Charlie whirled to stare at him. His head was spinning, and he was still half in math fugue. "I don't suppose I can hope that this is my project you're working on?" He gazed at the walls. "No, I think not."

"How would you know?" Charlie asked icily.

"As you said, Dr. Eppes, the initial problem is somewhat elementary. You don't think I'd set you loose on a first problem that I didn't have some way of discovering the basic solution for, do you?"

Charlie grimaced. "You'll have to forgive my underestimation of your intelligence. You seem to think I would work for you, which doesn't speak well for it."

"Come into the work room."

"I've got something flowing," Charlie said, turning back to the wall. He raised the chalk, and he'd only written one figure on the wall before he felt hands take hold of him. The chalk was removed from his grasp, and they patted him down roughly before shoving him out into the work room and shutting the door. One of them went out of the work room by the main door, the other remained in the cell.

"Please, have a seat, Dr. Eppes," Bill said cordially.

Charlie walked over and sat down. They could make him so there wasn't much point in resisting. He put his head down on his hands. Now that he wasn't blind and deaf to everything but the numbers, it ached abominably. His stomach felt like an empty space, but he wasn't really hungry, just lightheaded and tired.

"Dr. Eppes, please see things my way," Bill said. "I don't like seeing you like in this state."

Charlie snorted and raised his head. "You know, asking for my sympathy on that seems a little crass to say the least."

"Dr. Eppes, I have no desire to see you in this condition. You have forced me to this exigency."

Charlie blinked at him. "Do you know how inextricably logic is bound up with math?" he asked. Bill nodded, and Charlie could see the puzzled expression in his eyes. "Then why do you persist in trying to convince me with illogical arguments? I can't force you to do anything. I have no power over you."

"On the contrary, Dr. Eppes, you have power over my plans, and as such, I must find whatever method will best persuade you to do what I ask."

"Ah, but I have no control over your plans," Charlie said. "I didn't force you to make plans that require the skills of a mathematician of my caliber when you didn't have one under your influence. Again, illogic." He took a deep breath. "I don't really feel up to having another charming talk like we had yesterday."

"You didn't answer any of my questions yesterday."

"And I don't intend to answer them today," Charlie said with a shrug. "I just want to go home."

"If you never do anything for us, you're not going home."

The door opened and the guard came in carrying a bucket and a small packet of sponges. He went straight through into the cell, and Charlie sighed. "Well, that answers one problem I had."

"And that is?" Bill asked.

"How to erase it all once I'd reached the point where I needed a fresh slate. I wasn't quite there, but it was close."

"It isn't being erased for your benefit, Dr. Eppes," Bill snapped.

"I know," Charlie said with a weary smile. "But I can find benefit in it if I choose."

"Dr. Eppes –"

"Oh, and thank you for the confirmation. I had suspected you would kill me, but it's good to know for certain."

"This is ridiculous!" Bill said. He stood up and walked over to Charlie's side. "Your options are limited. It's foolish to refuse when you know that we can do what we like with you."

Charlie blinked up at him. "Folly is in the eyes of the beholder," he said. "I think it's folly for you to kidnap a mathematician because he has the skill to take your plan and make it work, then refuse to listen to him when he tells you that it won't."

"If you're so certain that our plan won't work, then why don't you refine it? Tell us what will work to achieve the ends we have in mind."

"But I don't want to achieve the ends you have in mind," Charlie said. "Regardless, I won't help you in any way. You kill people far too readily for me to want to have anything to do with you."

"Your brother kills people, Dr. Eppes."

"Within the confines of a strict legal code," Charlie said. "And he doesn't like doing it. You want to kill on a massive scale, and seem to feel no compunctions about it whatsoever."

"It's for the greater good."

"Who are you to decide what the greater good is?" Charlie asked. He shook his head. "I don't want to debate with you." Bill walked away, and Charlie could read frustration in the lines of his back. He put his head down again.

"I told you I looked into game theory," Bill said suddenly, and Charlie closed his eyes, repressing a groan. "You never did respond to my point that it indicates that you should do as I say." He walked back over to the table and sat down. "What do you have to say about that?"

Charlie raised his head. "That you have an extremely limited grasp of game theory, and that you have an insufficient understanding of my personality to weight the outcomes correctly."

"In what sense?" Bill demanded.

Charlie shook his head. "I'd like to lie down. Do you think they could clean the walls while I took a nap?"

Bill stared at him silently for a moment, then rose and opened the door to the cell. "Very well, Dr. Eppes. We will speak again later."

Sighing deeply, Charlie stood up. "I eagerly anticipate the opportunity," he said insincerely. He walked into the cell where the walls were now dripping with water. Ignoring the guards' dirty looks, he climbed in under the covers and fell quickly to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Megan knew that Don had made an attempt at sleep late Monday night, but by midday on Tuesday, she was beginning to feel that he should have gone home like David and Fogarty had. He was touchy and pushy and full of complaints. Not that she really expected anything different, she supposed, with his brother . . .

Four days now. Four days of kind, sensitive Charlie in the hands of some bastard who undoubtedly wanted something that he couldn't, by his very nature, give. If he'd wanted something Charlie wouldn't find impossible, he could have simply asked. He wouldn't have had to kill four men to get it. Leider had succumbed to his injuries late on Monday night while they were all asleep.

She thought Leider's death might be part of what was making Don so unbearable. They all felt guilty, but they had done everything they could. Guilt kind of went with the territory. People didn't go into law enforcement unless they somehow felt responsible for the rest of the world.

Her phone rang and she answered it automatically, still deeply lost in thought. "Reeves."

"Agent Reeves, this is Captain Archer of the Nebraska State Police. Your name is on this alert about Julia Thomasson. We found her, but I'm not sure if you'll think it's good news or not."

Megan blinked. "How can finding her not be good news?" she asked.

"She's dead. She was found early this morning in the woods near here by a fellow going hunting out of season. More accurately, I suppose, she was found by his dog. Whoever killed her had buried her about two foot deep, but Mr. Moore wasn't paying a lot of attention to his hound and it dug up a hand."

"Just a hand?" Megan asked, visions of horror in her mind.

"No, it was attached to the rest of her, but Moore called his dog off before it'd dug up more than the hand."

Megan took a deep breath. "You're sure it's her?"

"Fingerprints are a perfect match. I figure the killer didn't expect her to be found till legal hunting starts up in these parts."

"I see. How long has she been dead?" Megan asked.

"Coroner says no more than twelve hours."

"So, was she staying in the area?"

"Yup, she had a room at a local motel, under the name Maggie Stone. All her stuff is still in place, so if you wanted someone to come out and look at it, we can keep it that way."

"Please do," Megan said. "We'll be in touch." She hung up and stared at the computer screen in front of her for several seconds. This was definitely not good news. They had lost a potential witness, assuming she was involved, which by the relationship diagram she had to be. And if they were killing their own allies, that wasn't a good sign for Charlie. Don was not going to take this well.

Fogarty was in the conference room with Don and Colby, talking to Amita. Megan stood up and, tapping David on the shoulder to get him to follow her, went in. They all looked up, and Megan cleared her throat. "I've got some news," she said. With all eyes on her, she grimaced. "Julia Thomasson is dead. She was found in Nebraska early this morning, buried two feet deep, dead no more than twelve hours." If she'd wanted to stun them into silence, she couldn't have chosen better. "They've got her motel room preserved, so I told them to keep it that way and we'd be in touch."

"Holy shit," Fogarty said. "David, can you hop a flight to Lincoln and get a look at it?"

"Sure," David said and left to get things arranged.

"Why'd they kill her?" Amita asked.

"She's their connection to Dubois," Don replied, his affect very flat. "Dubois is in custody, so maybe they don't want that connection explored too deeply."

Amita looked back and forth among the three of them. "But . . . that's really ruthless. If she was working with them, unless she threatened them or something, killing her seems . . . it's just . . ."

Don put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Amita. It doesn't necessarily mean anything." As an expression of concern, it was a noble effort, but he was still very emotionally absent. Amita gave him a worried look, clearly not remotely convinced by his manner. He left with Fogarty, and Megan watched them go.

"He doesn't believe that, does he?" Amita asked helplessly, watching him walk away.

Megan gave her a reassuring smile. "He does, he's just not . . . not great at expressing himself when he's worried." She snorted. "Actually, he's not great at expressing himself when he's not worried. He's not good with emotion."

"I know," Amita said, looking puzzled. "And it's weird, because Charlie and Alan aren't like that."

"Well, Charlie's not," Megan said. "But Alan is." She tilted her head. "Maybe he's different around you, but you provide him with something he's never had before."

"What?" Amita asked, raising her eyebrows.

"A daughter figure." Amita's eyes widened and Megan squeezed her arm. "I don't mean to freak you out or anything, but there aren't any girls in that family, and Don doesn't bring women home much. You're the closest thing he has to a daughter figure."

Amita sat back, blinking. "Wow. No pressure."

"Sorry, but I thought you should know."

"And if anything happens to Charlie . . ."

"I think Alan will see you as . . . well, sort of as his widow," Megan said, and Amita bit her lips. "He's a very loving man, and I think he'd see you as someone he'd need to take care of."

Amita nodded slowly. "But nothing's going to happen to Charlie, right?" She looked at Megan with such desperate need that Megan couldn't ignore it, but she also couldn't lie to her.

"Let's sit down," she said.

"What?" Amita asked, anxiety increasing. "What is it?"

"I want to talk to you." Megan guided her to one of the chairs and sat beside her. "Look, I'm pretty confident that Charlie is still alive. They needed him for something, so they'll be keeping him around. For one thing, if he ever does cooperate, it won't be right away, so they'll have to wait awhile." Amita bit her lip, taking in Megan's words like they were her hope of heaven, tears sparkling in her eyes. "He may be hurt, but he'll be alive, and we will never stop looking for him."

Amita began to cry, and Megan gave her a big hug, her own tears brimming. After a few moments, a voice sounded behind them. "Some ill news has arrived?" Larry asked, sounding alarmed.

They broke apart, and Megan rubbed at her eyes. "No, no, just girl talk," she said. "Though we have found Julia Thomasson, and she's dead."

"I heard that as I entered the bullpen," Larry said. "I fail to see why that would cause tears on your part."

"It's a girl thing," Megan said. "Have you eaten?"

"I found a machine that contained cardboard sandwiches, and I consumed two, so I should survive awhile longer."

"Good." She stood up. "I'd better get back to work. Amita, do you need anything?" The girl shook her head. Megan squeezed her shoulder, gave Larry a quick kiss and headed back to her desk.

* * *

Don sat at his desk for a long time doing nothing. His mind was in neutral while his emotions played havoc with him. The people who had Charlie were killing each other. It struck him as a terrifying comment on their morals and intentions. Ruthless was one word for it, morally bankrupt was another. And Charlie was under their control, Charlie, who never wished harm on anyone, or almost never anyway. Charlie, whose idea of revenge on an academic rival who had sought to discredit him, Don still didn't fully understand how, was to give him partial credit for his solution to the flaw that rival had pointed out with such acid sympathy. It disturbed Don greatly to know that his brother was with people who sought to limit their exposure by killing one of their own.

He had no doubts that Julia Thomasson was wholeheartedly in this plot. Everything they'd learned about her made it clear that she committed her crimes out of conviction. She wasn't a hired gun, she was an ally who had become inconvenient.

He wanted to know how she'd died. How had they chosen to kill her? That would tell them a lot about who these men were. The thought came unbidden that it would also tell him what kind of death he could expect for Charlie.

Shoving that thought aside, he concentrated on putting what information they had in a comprehensible order. Colby was right. Thinking about what could happen to Charlie wouldn't help.

* * *

When Charlie woke he was alone, but the lights were still on. He didn't feel like he'd slept much more than two hours. The walls were clean and there were still drips of water on the floor. He stood up carefully. He was a bit dizzy, which wasn't too surprising, he supposed. He crossed to the bathroom and while he used the facilities, he checked for the chalk inside the toilet paper roll. It was still there. He tucked it back away for a later time.

After washing his hands, he went back and checked for the chalk in the pillow case. It, too, was still there. They must have assumed that he'd had only the one piece.

It had been either four or five days. The math in his head told him that the chances he'd be found were growing vanishingly small. Don would keep looking, he knew that, and the fact that his captors didn't want to kill him – at least not this week – was in his favor.

He dug the chalk out of the pillow case and walked over to the wall beside the door. He had work to do.

* * *

Much of Wednesday was spent retrieving and processing Thomasson's things. Don went home on Wednesday morning to get cleaned up and got roped into a nap by his father's simple refusal to take no for an answer. Don was beginning to feel that if they didn't make a break in the case soon, he was going to go stark raving nuts.

Megan went to see Dubois at mental health to tell her that Thomasson was dead and see if that shook anything loose. Unfortunately, all it did was excite her paranoia to an alarming degree that wound up getting her sedated.

Miller was awake and talking now, and he shed some more light on what happened during the capture. He said he saw one of the kidnappers go down, described the two vehicles they'd arrived in and said that he thought they'd used another patch to knock Charlie out.

Unfortunately, there was nothing in Thomasson's things that was as definite as an address. Her cell phone was missing, so they didn't have the information from that. There were three or four credit cards with several different names on them, and Megan was following the trails left by them. They had a car, and since it didn't appear to be stolen, they could trace it back to its previous owner and get more information.

It was a damned sight better than nothing, but it didn't seem much like progress to Don.

His father seemed to be spending a lot of his time doing absolutely nothing if there was no one for him to take care of. Millie was spending all her time with him, running her department from her laptop. Don really appreciated her being there for his dad because he simply wasn't able to be. He also appreciated her letting him have Larry and Amita for the time being.

He went back to the office as soon as his father would let him go and found the bustle heartening, even if it didn't seem to be getting them anywhere.

They would find Charlie. They would. Soon.

* * *

Charlie woke up feeling tired and achy. He'd spent an entire day on the walls because no one came. At least, he thought it had been a day. He hadn't napped, and the lights had stayed on a very long time. It was hard to tell time without markers, even the ambiguous and nonspecific markers he'd been provided so far. No one had brought clothes or towels, no one had dragged him out to the work room to torture him with food he couldn't have or ply him with idiotic questions.

No fresh linens didn't much matter since he didn't really have the energy to take a bath. He had dragged the mattress over by the bathroom to get it out of the way of his work the previous day, and it proved to have been a good move, as he didn't feel like going much further than the sink and the toilet before sitting down again.

He looked up at the walls. He'd entirely used up one of his two remaining pieces of chalk, but he thought he'd made some progress. He set himself to memorizing what he'd written so he could reproduce it later. Ordinarily he wouldn't worry, but he kept forgetting things. He found it very disturbing to lose track of what he was doing in the middle of doing it.

The door opened and he looked up. The guards walked in and went about the gathering of laundry. He leaned back against the wall and pretended they weren't there. When they were done with their chores, they came over to him. Charlie ignored them. Maybe they'd go away if he didn't pay them any attention.

One of them leaned down and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. When he was up, the guy started pulling him forward, but Charlie tripped and went down to one knee. A moment later, both of them grabbed him and supported him into the work room where Bill waited. They sat him down in his chair and removed themselves to flank the outer door. Charlie glanced over at them, then turned back to Bill, waiting patiently for the day's line of bullshit. He couldn't stop it, so he might as well listen.

Bill launched into a long talk about responsibility and sacrifice and the time for change. Charlie let it all wash through without really sticking. After awhile, he noticed that Bill was squatting beside him and that he'd stopped talking. Incuriously, he looked over and down into the concerned blue eyes. "Dr. Eppes, you look terrible," he said. "You really have to reconsider this. It's only a few calculations and it would bring so much positive change."

Charlie sighed deeply. "I'm tired, I'm a little forgetful, but I haven't suddenly become stupid, Bill. I'm not helping you kill people."

"Not even to save your own life?" Bill asked.

Shrugging, Charlie said, "If I would kill people to save myself, then I wouldn't really be worth saving, now would I?"

Bill didn't say anything for a long moment, just gazed into Charlie's eyes. Charlie turned after a bit, breaking contact. Bill cleared his throat. "Dr. Eppes, it seems I misjudged you."

"You don't say," Charlie said. "I presume you have a point?"

Bill stood up. "Put him back to bed – carefully." He watched them help Charlie to his feet. "I'll be back later."

"Don't hurry on my account," Charlie said.

The guards took him back to the cell and tried to put him to bed, but he resisted, insisting on sitting up. When they left him alone, he returned to memorizing the walls.

* * *

Don sat at the computer in the conference room plotting the locations from Thomasson's credit card records on a map, labeling them with the relevant dates. When he was done, he sat back and looked at the projection screen. It looked like she was coming out of the Northwest, but she'd started traveling just over two weeks ago. She seemed to have made a couple of longer stops, one in northeast Oregon and the other in southwest Wyoming. They'd have to get people out there asking questions.

"There don't seem to be enough gas purchases," Megan observed.

"Yeah, I was noticing that," Don said. "They didn't find her wallet, though, so maybe we're missing a card or two."

"Or maybe she had company at least part of the way," Megan suggested.

"Maybe." Don shook his head. "And before this trip all the charges seem to be on the Lisa Martin card, in and around Seattle, for about two months."

Megan leaned down to look at the list from that card, then stood up, looking thoughtful. "Two –"

The door opened and David stuck his head in. "Don, Megan, Fogarty wants to talk to you for a minute."

Don wasn't sure what to make of David's expression. Even when he was joking, there was always a serious cast to his face, but right now he looked positively shuttered. Don stood up, nodded to Amita and Larry, and followed David with Megan close behind him. He led them to a different conference room, one with opaque walls and Fogarty inside. Somewhere along the way, they'd picked up Colby. Don had an uneasy feeling about all this, particularly given the grim look on Fogarty's face.

No one spoke for a long moment after the door closed, and Don could suddenly feel his heartbeat in his throat.

* * *

Megan wished Fogarty would just get on with whatever his news was and lay off the suspense. She could practically feel Don's tension growing moment by moment. David must have been waiting for Fogarty to take the lead, because he glanced at the senior agent and pursed his lips. "We've had a call from the coroner's office in Tulare. They've found . . . remains . . . of an adult male with curly brown hair whose description matches – very generally matches Charlie."

Don blinked at him, and Megan was more than a little worried by the lack of reaction. He cleared his throat and in a voice that hinted at the emotional turmoil within, he said, "You said 'remains.' If you'd meant a body, you would have said a body, so what does 'remains' mean?"

David's adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. "A head. They found a head."

Megan felt as though she'd been punched in the gut, so she couldn't imagine how Don must feel. She turned to look at him and saw that he had started shaking, eyes fixed on some distant, horrifying image. He sat down very suddenly.

"Someone has to go . . . to go look," David said. "The photograph they sent is worse than useless, and –"

"I'll go," Megan said quickly before Don could pull himself together.

Don looked up vaguely. "It should be me," he said in a voice that sounded entirely alien. "I'm the brother, shouldn't it be me?"

"Nope," Megan said matter of factly. "We never get close family if we can avoid it, you know that, Don. I'll just grab my purse and –"

"I'll come with," Colby said. "We'll call as soon as we know either way, Don."

Don didn't seem capable of responding.

Megan walked over to David. "Don't leave him alone," she said in an undertone. "And don't let anyone tell Alan, Larry or Amita."

"Only Fogarty and I know now, so we'll keep it close," David said, glancing over at Don. "Call soon."

Megan nodded. She gave Don a worried look, then hurried out. Neither she nor Colby had much to say on the drive. Megan wanted to believe that the people who had dealt so delicately with Julia Thomasson's body would never have dismembered Charlie, but Thomasson was one of their own, and Charlie wasn't. She felt numb.

"It's not him," Colby said. "We have to look, but it's not him."

Megan nodded. She wanted to believe that, too, but it was difficult to get the idea of a head – Charlie's head – out of her mind. She couldn't bring herself to speak, so she just kept driving. It took three hours to reach Tulare, and by the time they got there, Megan's tension had risen to a fever pitch. They got out and went inside to be received by officials who clearly didn't realize that they knew the potential victim. Briskly, almost brusquely, the technician guided them into the morgue and flipped the sheet back to reveal the head.

Megan took a deep breath to control her immediate dismay, then leaned forward to examine the face carefully. It had been in the open, clearly, because the eyes were gone, and the nose had been nibbled on. The ears . . . she covered her face with a handkerchief and focused on the line of the nose.

"Is it him?" asked the technician.

All the tension left her at once. She stood up and had her phone out so fast the technician was blinking at her. She dialed and Don answered. "It's not him, Don. It's not him."

"Oh thank God!" That's all Don got out before he started sobbing, hard, dry sobs that sounded painful. The sound got more distant, and she heard David's voice.

"It's not him, then?"

"No, David. It's not. Definitely not. We'll be on our way back now."

"Good. I'll . . . Don will be okay."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

To Charlie's surprise, the door opened again before the lights went out. He'd grown used to the idea that he wouldn't see anyone again once they shut the door. He looked up uneasily, uncertain what to make of this change in routine. Bill came in, and one of the guards stayed by the door. Bill was carrying something in his hand, a plastic cup with a straw.

"Dr. Eppes, I brought you something."

"I see that," Charlie said. "What is it?"

"It's a protein shake. It should get you started on feeling better again."

Charlie stared at him. "I'm not working for you," he said in case someone had missed something.

"That's not required to get the shake."

Charlie shook his head. "If you're thinking that you'll get me fed up again and then try something else, you've got to see that it won't work. I'm not going to work for you."

"Please, Dr. Eppes, take the shake." He held it out. "I want you to eat."

Charlie took the cup. "I'm still not going to work for you," he said, but he took a sip of the stuff. It was nominally grape flavored, but it tasted vile. He swallowed it down nevertheless.

"Not too fast," Bill cautioned. "It could make you sick."

He slowed down a bit, but once it hit his stomach it was difficult to resist gulping. Then his stomach started cramping, and he put the cup down on the floor. He clamped a hand over his mouth and put his other hand on his gut.

"Are you all right?" Bill asked urgently. Charlie held up a hand to get him to shut up. Speaking was not his best move just now. He leaned back against the wall and just breathed. After several moments Bill stood up. "I'll just leave the shake here, then. Drink as much of it as you can."

"Right," Charlie said. "This doesn't change anything," he added as Bill went to the door. "I hope you know that."

Bill nodded. "I do."

Charlie watched him go out, watched the door shut. The cramps in his stomach were easing now. They had given up on starvation. Since he didn't think they would make him better just to release him, that meant they had another plan. He wondered how soon they'd put it into motion.

* * *

Don's throat ached, his head was congested and he didn't seem to be able to meet David's eye. The torrent of emotion that had burst from him after Megan's call had left him shaken and embarrassed. He'd returned to his work in the conference room, which necessitated some explanation to Amita and Larry, given his physical and emotional state.

Those hours of thinking that Charlie's head might be residing in a morgue in Tulare were among the worst in Don's life. It had frozen him, utterly paralyzed him. He'd never experienced anything like it. Even the numb noncomprehension that had surrounded his early knowledge that his mother was dying didn't parallel it. Cancer was one thing; murder and decapitation was quite another.

Amita and Larry were profoundly affected by the news, but the reassurance had come first for them, so their reactions seemed more focused on relief and commiseration. Don still hadn't hit relief. He felt sort of empty and drained. Not numb. He knew numb, and this wasn't it. It was as if emotion had filled him to bursting, then run away again completely, leaving nothing behind.

Megan was right, he thought, gazing at the data he'd been working on so many hours before. Thomasson hadn't bought nearly enough gas for the trip she'd taken. He began to chart mileage against miles actually driven between gas purchases to get a feel for where she might have stopped. The simple math was mindless, and if he wasn't yet up to drawing conclusions, he could at least sort out the data.

"Maybe you should go home for awhile, Eppes."

Don looked up at Wright, startled by his name coming at the end of the comment. He stared up at the deputy director while his mind processed the words he'd spoken, then he shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere near my father till I'm a little less . . ." He couldn't think of a word. "A little more . . . handled."

"You have an apartment, don't you?" Wright asked, but Amita broke in earnestly.

"I really don't think he should be alone, sir," she said. "And I think he needs to be busy."

Wright turned to her, and Don focused again on the data he was rearranging. "How long has it been since you rested, Dr. Ramanujan?" he asked.

"Last night," she replied. "Megan took me to Alan's and we ate a late supper with him. I took a – I slept for awhile then."

"Very well. I'm heading home. Take care of yourself, Eppes. And you, Dr. Ramanujan, make sure he gets some rest."

"I will," Amita said.

Wright left and Don returned to his work. The door opened again a few moments later and Don looked up, ready to repel any more people who wanted to send him home, but this time it was Megan. He stood up. "Thank you," he said, glancing out to see Colby over by his desk. He looked at Megan. "That can't have been easy."

"No, it wasn't," she said frankly. "But easier for me than it would have been for you."

"It's . . . it's definitely not . . . Charlie?" he asked despite himself.

"Wrong nose and cheekbones entirely," she said. "And I think he might be a good bit younger than Charlie."

"Oh man," Don said, a little disturbed by how glad he was of that fact. "Well, I was back on . . . you remember, we were –"

"Seattle," Megan said, blinking. "You said she spent two months in Seattle."

"Well, her credit card seems to have," Don said.

"Where was she shopping?" Megan asked, pulling a chair up beside him.

"All sorts of places," Don said. "Grocery stores, restaurants, a lot of home improvement stores, and . . ." He leaned closer. "Never the same place twice with the home improvement stores. Large purchases, too."

"How large?"

"Five thousand, seven thousand, two thousand . . . here's one that's ten thousand."

Larry and Amita stopped what they were doing and turned around. "That's a lot of money," Amita said. "What was she buying?"

"We'll have to get that from the stores in the morning," Don said.

"I think maybe we need to call the Seattle office, though," Megan said. "Get them looking around to see what they see. That much money, right before the kidnapping, it's hard to imagine it's a coincidence."

"Yeah . . ." Don said. "Get a warrant for the purchase data, would you, Megan? I'm going to keep trying to figure out where she should have stopped for gas so we can trace her journey and see if we can find anyone who might have been with her."

"Sure."

Eventually, Don returned to his own desk to look at the reports that had come in over the day. His three teammates were at their own desks despite the late hour. He was organizing the interviews by relevance, forwarding the most important to Fogarty. First David and then Colby had gone to get coffee for everyone. It was coming up on either his turn or Megan's turn when his cell phone rang.

He glanced at the clock and saw that it was past two in the morning. He flipped his phone open and answered. "Eppes."

"Don?" The voice was rough and weak, but it was deep and sounded like Charlie.

Don started to his feet. "Where are you?" he asked urgently.

"Near the tar pits, I think," he said, and he was breathing hard. "Don, help me!"

"Don, what is it?" Megan demanded.

"I –" It was on the tip of Don's tongue to say he'd be there in ten minutes, but the cold logic of his detective's brain surfaced. Something wasn't right. "What . . . what was Mom's dog's name?" he asked. "The one she had when she was growing up?"

"Don, we don't have time for this," the voice said, sounding desperate. "They're after me!"

"Just tell me the name," Don said urgently.

"I . . . I don't remember."

Rage slammed through Don. "What the fuck have you done with my brother?" he demanded.

"Don?" It sounded like Charlie, but Don knew it wasn't. It couldn't be. The line went dead suddenly. Don snapped his phone shut.

"It was just long enough for a trace, Don," David said. He was on the phone. He must have started the trace the moment Don jumped up.

Don turned to him. "Where did it come from?"

David's eyebrows rose. "Arkansas."

Don thumped down into his chair again. "Mother fucking son of a bitch!" he growled.

"What was it, Don?" Megan demanded.

"Somebody pretending to be Charlie," he said. "Trying to get me to go out to the tar pits to get him because he got away."

"Holy shit," Megan breathed. "They want you now."

Colby was on the phone, and Don heard him ordering a team to the tar pits. He thanked his lucky stars that someone was still thinking as he buried his face in his hands. "He's not cooperating," he muttered. "They want another hold on him." He raised his head abruptly. "Dad! We need to get a team on Dad!"

"He's got a team in the house all the time, Don, watching the phones and recording every call that comes in."

"Right," Don said, and he realized that he was breathing hard like he'd been running. "I don't . . . I can't . . . it sounded so close."

Megan put an arm around his shoulders. "Well, it does tell us one thing for certain." Don looked up at her. "He's still alive. They wouldn't be trying to get hostages if he was dead."

Don nodded, clinging to the sense of that. He couldn't help wondering, though, just what tactics they'd tried to get him to work. What they'd tried that had failed.

* * *

Megan watched Don work, worried about him. He couldn't take much more of this. First a dead boy that might be Charlie in Tulare, then a voice that claimed to be Charlie luring him into danger. Now he had his own team that would go with him when he left the office, because they certainly couldn't afford to allow Don to be taken. Megan wasn't sure what would happen to Charlie if he was forced to face the idea of damage being done to his brother. He might do anything to prevent it, or he might simply collapse emotionally and be incapable of doing anything.

By the time the office started to fill on Thursday morning, Don seemed to be recovered enough to face his father and sufficiently tired that Megan thought it was in everyone's best interests if he went home for a rest. Amita could use some sleep, too, and Larry needed to get out of the FBI building and find a softer bed than the conference room floor.

Against their objections, she gathered up her errant flock and herded them to the parking garage. One benefit of this was that it surrounded Don with people and made it that much less likely that there would be an attack against him, but it didn't set Don's back up.

She took a laptop with her. While everyone else when to lie down, Megan stayed in the kitchen with Alan to give Millie some time to herself. Alan bustled around fixing food for everyone to eat when they got up. Megan called up the lists of purchases on her laptop.

"Alan?" she asked after awhile. He turned to her, his eyes vague and his hands covered with meat paste. "What would someone want with ten thousand pounds of concrete?"

"Ten thousand pounds?" he repeated, his eyes focusing abruptly. "Any number of building projects, I should imagine." He walked around behind Megan and peered at the lists. "Rebar . . . some kind of wall, I'd guess."

"Really?"

"And I'll tell you, there's no way you're mixing that amount of concrete in a wheelbarrow. What's this about?"

"These are lists of stuff that a woman connected to Charlie's kidnapping bought." Alan blinked at her, seeming disconcerted. "What do you mean about the wheelbarrow?"

"You'd need a cement truck to get that much concrete mixed," he said. "And you don't buy that much concrete at once unless you need to. For one thing, if it gets wet, it's ruined."

Megan turned her attention back to her screen. Walls, concrete, cement mixer. She picked up her phone, called the Seattle office and asked them to look into cement truck rentals.

"Am I helping?" Alan asked.

"Yes, you are," she said with a smile. "I just wish I knew . . . there's so much we don't know still."

Alan nodded and, eyes dark with thought, he returned to his meatloaf.

* * *

Charlie awoke to a hand shaking his shoulder. He rolled over and looked up into the masked face and blue eyes of Bill. "What do you want?"

"What is all this?" Bill asked, gesturing at the writing on the walls.

"P vs. NP," Charlie said. "I was getting somewhere, I think." He sat up and shifted away from Bill. His stomach was empty and cramping with hunger.

"Isn't that an unsolvable problem?" Bill sat down on the mattress beside Charlie, leaning back against the wall.

"That's only because no one's solved it yet," Charlie replied uneasily. He didn't get the man's sudden need to sit next to him.

"Why didn't you finish the protein drink?"

"My stomach hurt," Charlie said. "You're too close."

"Dr. Eppes, I'm not doing anything. I just –"

Charlie moved further away and then got up. "I need to . . . excuse me." He went into the bathroom to escape Bill's sudden friendliness. He didn't understand where it was coming from, and it was entirely unwelcome. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, doing everything he could think of to delay his return into the cell.

His beard itched. He wished it didn't grow so fast because by now he probably looked exceptionally scruffy. He scrubbed it thoroughly and dried his face then started finger combing his hair. There was a knock on the door. "Dr. Eppes, you need to come out."

"Just a minute," Charlie called. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Bill was waiting outside. "Do you mind stepping back?" Charlie asked.

Bill reached forward and put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, pulling him forward. "Why are you being so jumpy, Dr. Eppes?"

"You do know we're not friends, right?" Charlie asked as Bill put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him towards the door into the work room. "Could you let go of me?"

"Have a seat, Dr. Eppes.," Bill said, guiding him to a chair. "I've brought you some beef broth and an enriched juice. Please try to finish it all, if you can." He sat down in the chair catty corner and gazed earnestly at Charlie.

"Bill, what are you doing?" he asked anxiously.

"I feel I've been too distant with you," Bill said. "It's making things harder than they need to be."

Charlie blinked at him. "The whole Stockholm thing is just not happening," he said. "I mean, you threatened to kill my family, and you starved me, and in between those two, you killed six good men who didn't deserve to die. I can't forget that, certainly not because you've suddenly decided that you want to be friends."

"I could bring a chessboard in if you like," Bill said as if none of Charlie's words had made any impression on him.

"A chessboard," Charlie repeated. "Why would I want you to do that?"

"I understand you enjoy chess."

Charlie took a deep breath. "In all honesty, I play chess with my father to be polite. I don't see any reason to be polite to you." He looked down at the food, his stomach twisting at the departure from routine. It might have been a routine he didn't want, but he didn't understand the change. "Please, can you go back to the other end of the table, like before?"

"Dr. Eppes, don't be so foolish."

Charlie reached out and picked up the mug of broth and began to drink it. The broth tasted wonderful, but Charlie was still uneasy about Bill's physical proximity and the relationship that he seemed to be attempting to create. Did he really think that a few games of chess and a friendly chat about math could get past an antipathy born of murder, attempted murder, torture and abduction? Or was he just following a script dictated by others?

Charlie didn't honestly know if he could deal with these attempts at intimacy. His stomach grumbled unhappily. Even so, he kept gradually pouring the broth down. He needed the nutrition. He'd just have to hope that his stress didn't make his gut rebel. Sugar sounded like a little too much, though. He took a tiny sip of the juice and his gut protested, so he put it aside. He had a feeling that they were guessing at how to restart him on food, and supposed he should just be grateful that they hadn't tried to push solid food on him.

Bill got up and moved away to the door. Charlie breathed a little more freely while he was farther away. He hoped his captor wasn't seeking a chessboard. The idea of sitting here playing chess games with the man made Charlie's skin crawl.

When Bill came back to the table, he started to sit down again, and Charlie looked up desperately. "Look, if you really want me to eat, and you want me to keep it down, could you . . . could you just be quiet? And going away wouldn't hurt, either. I . . ." He grimaced. "Stress does bad things to my digestion."

Bill stared at him for a moment. "I'm not trying to cause you stress."

"Well, trying or not, you're succeeding," Charlie said. "Back off."

He seemed a little taken aback by Charlie's vehemence, but he did take a few steps back. "I'll come back later, then," he said. "Try to finish it all."

"I can't do the juice," Charlie said, pushing it away. "It's too much. Something less sweet would be better."

Bill took the juice and left, and the guards went with him, and Charlie realized that they'd left him in the room with the chalk and the whiteboards. He looked around with pleasure, but he thought he'd better finish the broth first before he tried to take advantage of the situation.

* * *

Don was startled to find his father and Megan hunched conspiratorially over her laptop when he came into the kitchen. "What's up?" he asked. "I smell Mom's famous meatloaf."

"Yes, it should be ready in another fifteen minutes," his father said. "Donnie, come look what we've uncovered."

Don walked over to peer between them. All he saw was a vast list of what looked like construction supplies. "What am I looking at?"

"Well," Megan said, leaning back and stretching her neck. "One of the transactions was actually paid for using two credit cards, and we didn't have the other one."

"Really?" Don pulled a Coke out of the fridge and sat down.

"So, I pulled the records on that one, filled in a few more of Thomasson's gas purchases, and found a lot more building supplies."

"I suspect they were . . ." His father's voice broke, but he just cleared his throat and forged on. "I think they must have built a room to keep Charlie in. There's concrete, there's plumbing supplies, and there are a half dozen whiteboards with markers."

"Whiteboards?" Don said, leaning forward. "That sounds pretty conclusive."

"Conclusive enough that we've got a flight to Seattle at nine this evening," Megan said. "Fogarty and David are already there."

Don looked at his watch. It was quarter to seven. "Have you got what you need?"

"Had Colby bring it over," she said. "He's in the bathroom."

"Then we're ready to go?"

Megan was nodding when his father piped up. "I guess I'd better go pack, then."

"Um . . . you're not coming, Dad."

He shrugged. "It was worth a try. Are you taking Amita and Larry?"

"Hell no," Megan said. "If we need something from them, we'll call. This is strictly field personnel only. We probably shouldn't even be taking Don, but there's a theory afoot . . ." She gave Don an arch look. "That Charlie may not respond well to anyone but his brother."

Don nodded, not trusting his voice, and then hurried upstairs to grab a bag and stuff some things into it. He'd have to avail himself of a laundromat or someone's washer and dryer, but he had enough to get by. A week tomorrow. Something had to give and give soon.

* * *

Charlie was midway through his thought process when the door opened. He turned a little too quickly and had to catch himself against the wall. Bill entered, but instead of his usual two man contingent, there were three guys with him, one of them carrying a case of some kind. Charlie swallowed nervously, watching them. Two of them flanked the door as usual, but the third walked over to the table and opened his case. Bill came over to Charlie.

"Come sit down again, Dr. Eppes," he said, putting an arm around Charlie's shoulders.

Charlie ducked sideways, but he went to sit down anyway. "What's this?" he asked uneasily, gesturing at the stuff coming out of the case.

"I have something I need you to do for me, Dr. Eppes. I know you're not going to like it, but I think you really should –"

"I'm not doing anything for you," Charlie said, gazing suspiciously at the electronic equipment the guy was setting up. To his surprise, a microphone came out of the case last. The man hooked it up and then placed it in front of Charlie. Then he stepped back and Bill settled himself at the controls. "What is this?" Charlie demanded as the tech walked around to stand behind him.

"I want you to read something for me, that's all," Bill said. "It's even true, so it's not as though you'd be lying." Charlie didn't quite know what to say to that, but he was uneasily aware of the man hovering behind him. Bill nodded, and the man dropped a piece of paper on the table in front of Charlie.

He read it automatically, and he was glad it had been awhile since the broth because his stomach clenched. Anger and anxiety surged together. "Are you crazy? What makes you think I'd help you catch my brother? I don't want him within five miles of you without a gun and lots of back up."

Bill gazed silently at him for a moment. "Dr. Eppes, if you don't want us to go after your brother, there is a simple solution," he said, and Charlie looked away. "We wouldn't have any need for him if you would simply do the work you've been asked to do."

"And I won't," Charlie said. "Nothing's changed."

"Not even our efforts to obtain your brother?" Bill asked.

"You've tried already?" Bill nodded, and Charlie closed his eyes. "How many people have you killed trying for him?"

"No one yet," Bill said, and Charlie clenched his fists. "And if you will agree to do the tasks you've been set, we won't have to keep trying. No one will die."

Charlie's eyes snapped open. "Except the people you plan to blow up!" he exclaimed angrily. "I haven't forgotten about them, and I won't."

"Dr. Eppes, either you help us with our problem, or we have to find some means to persuade you."

"I'm not going to help you," Charlie said. "Why can't you get that through your head?" He swallowed, trying to banish the image of what they might do to Don to try and get him to agree. He snatched up the script, crumpled it up and threw it at Bill's head. "And I certainly won't help you lure my brother into danger."

"Oh, you'll help, Dr. Eppes," Bill said, and his voice had gone all sympathetic and concerned. The change in tone made Charlie shift uneasily in his chair. Bill flattened out the page and held it out to Charlie again. "The only question is how much pain you'll be in when you do it."

Charlie crossed his arms. "Nothing you do to me will make me read that paper."

Hands came down on Charlie's shoulders and he tensed. Bill lowered the script to the table and sat back with a sigh. "You don't have to read what we've written to help us, Dr. Eppes," he said. "That's just the easy way."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Don's phone rang while they were waiting for the rental car. He picked it up automatically. "Eppes."

"Agent Eppes, I have a message from your brother." The voice was stunningly familiar. It was the man who'd threatened to kill their father, the man who'd made Charlie tie them up.

"Where is he?" Don demanded.

"He needs you, Agent Eppes," the man said. "He's not doing as we ask, and we have no use for him otherwise. He needs you to encourage him."

"What are you talking about?" Don asked. Megan was looking at him with alarm, and Colby was on his phone.

"You're a good brother, Agent Eppes, and I know you'll want to protect your brother from what we can do to him."

Don opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the sound on the phone changed, and he heard a voice that was even more familiar. "No, I won't!" It was Charlie's voice, and he sounded both angry and desperate.

"Charlie?" Don exclaimed. "Charlie, we –"

A loud cry of pain chopped off his words and made his hand clench on his phone. "I won't help you!" Charlie cried out. "No! Stop!"

"Charlie, I –" The sound of Charlie's anguished pleading cut off with an abruptness that made it clear that it was a recording. Don was left staring, appalled, at nothing.

"Now, I know you want to help your brother," the man said in a hateful, unctuous voice.

"What do you want from me?" Don asked, his voice harsh.

"I want you to come out to the coast. Near the camp store in Leo Carrillo State Park you'll find an old blue pickup truck. Under the front seat you'll find a briefcase with combination locks. Your birthday is on the left, your brother's is on the right. Follow the instructions inside."

"You –"

"If no one comes or someone else shows up, you'll get a video of the consequences." There was a click and Don looked at his phone. The call was gone.

"I couldn't get a trace," Colby said apologetically, and then he wrapped up his call.

"What is it, Don?" Megan asked. "Did you talk to Charlie?"

"Let's get moving," Colby said, glancing around. "I think we need to get under cover."

"Right." Megan bustled Don into the back seat of the car and climbed in next to him. Colby set off driving. "Don, what happened?"

Don shook his head. He realized he was still holding the phone and it fell out of his hand to the floor of the car. "It was the guy . . . the one who came to the house that first night," he said. His voice sounded wholly unnatural to his own ears. "He said that Charlie's not cooperating, and that they don't have any use for him if he doesn't."

"Okay," Megan said in her calm voice. "And?"

"And they want me to come encourage him, otherwise . . ." Don rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. "They hurt him. They played me tape of them hurting him."

"God!" Megan exclaimed. "What . . . what did he say?"

Don clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. "Not much beyond 'I won't' and 'stop,'" he said. "It was recorded, just a demonstration."

"But what did they want from you? Encourage him? What does that mean?"

Don shook his head. "I don't know, I think it means that I take his place as punching bag."

"What did they tell you to do?" Colby asked.

"I was supposed to go find instructions at Leo Carrillo Beach."

"Which means that they don't know you've left LA," Megan pointed out. "That's a good sign."

"There is nothing good about any of this," Don growled. Megan squeezed his shoulder and fell silent after that.

It was nearly one a.m. before they reached the FBI office in Seattle, and Don was surprised to find that the floor they were directed to was bustling with activity. David hurried over to them. "We think we know where they are."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Don demanded.

"There's at least ten guys on the property. We need a plan that keeps Charlie safe."

Don grimaced unhappily. Unfortunately, that made all too much sense. "What do we have?"

"A farmhouse," David said. "It's been under watch by the ATF because the guy who owns it is kind of a survivalist. Lots of guns, lots of friends, lots of drinking. But when the FBI around here started asking questions about cement trucks, it set off alarms with the ATF surveillance team."

"Yeah," said a guy walking up with a donut. "We though they were building a bunker."

"Do you mean that there have been people watching this place this whole time, the whole week Charlie's been gone?" Don asked incredulously.

"We never saw any sign of a prisoner," the guy said. "I'm Agent Cochrane of the ATF."

"What do you mean, no sign?" Don asked.

"The only guys we've seen are on the list of people who've been there before," Cochrane said. "No one with an outstanding warrant, just a lot of people under suspicion for a lot of things."

From a little ways off, Don heard an unexpected voice. "What do you mean, there are complications to my plan?" Edgerton demanded. "I've been after this guy for three months now, and I know he's on that –" As he'd spoken, his voice had gotten closer. He broke off as he came around the corner and saw Don. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the man he'd been talking to. "Eppes? The voodooman is my complication?"

"Voodooman?" Cochrane repeated with a puzzled grin at Don and Colby.

Don nodded. "That's what he likes to call my brother," he said, then he turned to Edgerton. "Your guy is on this farm they're telling me about?"

"Your brother?" Cochrane said. "You're this guy's brother?"

"Agent Don Eppes," Don said. "FBI."

Cochrane turned towards the man Edgerton had been talking to. "Garrick, did you know that –"

Garrick, a tall guy with pure white hair, scowled and said, "Yes, and I'm not happy about it."

Don opened his mouth to retort, but Megan caught his arm to silence him. "We understand your concern," she said. "But Dr. Eppes . . . like many other people of his extreme intelligence . . . has some profound weaknesses. We're not at all sure how he'll react to anyone who isn't close family. With a choice between a city planner in his sixties and an FBI agent, we thought Don was the better bet."

Garrick turned to Don. "You are under my authority, young man, do you understand that?"

Before Don could respond, Fogarty pushed to the front of the group. "Actually, he's here under my authority, Agent Garrick," he said with a glance at Don. "And he understands that he's here in a support role. He will not participate in the raid, but we will need him nearby in case Dr. Eppes needs his presence."

Don grimaced and shook his head. Thrilled as he was that the LA contingent were taking such care that he not get himself into trouble, he thought everyone was missing a key point. "Has it occurred to any of you that Charlie's liable to panic if he's approached by a bunch of strangers with guns?" he demanded. "He may see your people coming and just run."

Garrick gazed at Don, blinking throughfully. "Your brother's a federal consultant. Is he that easily spooked?"

Don looked down briefly and sighed. He didn't really want to make Charlie look foolish, but he also didn't want to risk anyone freaking his brother out. He looked up and met Garrick's eyes. "I don't have any way to guess what these guys are doing to him, except that I got to hear them smack him around." Garrick grimaced uncomfortably. "Anyway, he doesn't react well to certain kinds of pressure or any kind of violence. He's liable to . . ." Don trailed off uncertainly, and Megan took up the slack.

"Long story short, Charlie's a consultant, not a field agent. He doesn't handle violence or guns real well. He's going to need his brother on scene."

Garrick pursed his lips. "Fogarty, I want all of your guys in the conference room in fifteen minutes. Anyone who hasn't eaten recently, grab something to eat and drink. Cochrane, grab your senior guys. Tom, grab our guys."

* * *

Charlie lay awake most of the night, staring at the invisible ceiling. His ribs and arms ached, and he felt disgusted with himself for having shouted enough for them get a recording to send Don. Not that his brother would be idiot enough to turn himself over to these bastards, but it was embarrassing. And it would make things harder for Don.

And if they did get him, if they did start torturing Don to get him to work, what would he do? What could he do? He couldn't kill hundreds or thousands to save his brother's life. He hoped Don would understand that. He thought his brother would not only understand it but agree with it; he knew his father would. He just hoped he never had to face the question.

By the time the lights came on, he hadn't slept at all. He blinked against the sudden brightness and rolled himself slowly to his feet. He suspected the false congeniality of the previous morning had been an attempt to get him calm enough to actually ingest and digest the food he'd been given. It seemed an odd touch of irony. They hadn't wanted to torture him on a completely empty stomach.

He managed to get himself cleaned up and presentable before Bill arrived, and he walked out into the work room without being asked. There was another cup of beef broth and a glass of juice. Charlie picked up the broth at once.

Bill walked over and sat down with him. "Dr. Eppes, I really didn't like doing that to you," he said, and Charlie ignored him. "We must have your help, and if your brother refuses to cooperate, which he has so far, we may have to take more drastic steps."

Charlie closed his eyes and sighed. "You're going to do whatever you choose, I get that," he said. "But you'll do it without my help."

"You leave us with no alternative, Dr. Eppes."

"You have lots of alternatives," Charlie said wearily. "You could always drop this idiotic plan and let me go."

"Or we could try to get hold of your father instead," Bill suggested softly.

"The FBI undoubtedly have a cordon about six thick around him by now," Charlie replied, hoping it was true. "If you've made an attempt – or two – to get hold of Don, I'm sure they've picked up on the fact that Dad's in danger, too."

"It doesn't worry you that we might try to capture your father?"

Charlie seized the glass of juice, hurled the contents of it into Bill's face and then threw it as hard as he could into the corner of the room. It was heavy plastic, so it just bounced, sending reddish droplets flying to the floor and walls. He couldn't find words to respond to the moronic question, so he just returned to drinking his broth.

Bill rose, also wordlessly, and disappeared into the cell. A moment later, Charlie could hear water running in the bathroom. He kept drinking the broth, hoping that the storm his anxious stomach was brewing wouldn't bring it back up again. The door opened while Bill was still in the bathroom, and another masked figure entered. His mask was on crooked, and Charlie could see a bit of skin and brown hair at his neck. He looked at the man curiously. He gave a strong impression of agitation even without facial expression.

The new man looked at the guards who pointed towards the cell, and then he went into the cell himself. Charlie heard hushed voices inside and walked over to hear what they had to say. One of the guards interceded, blocking his path, and Charlie ground his teeth. A moment later, Bill and the stranger emerged, and all four men left the workroom. Charlie looked around at the mathematics they'd left on the boards and sighed. He finished his broth and then went to lie down.

* * *

Megan knew that both Don and Colby were furious at being left behind, but Garrick and Fogarty had agreed firmly that a man who had been in a hospital bed with injuries and infection less than a week previously had no business being part of a raid like this one, and no one besides Don thought that their victim's brother should risk himself.

The compromise that had been hammered out left her working with total strangers, a situation she didn't altogether like but had to deal with. Don was right, they needed at least one person Charlie knew well in every team. With Don and Colby out of the running, that left her, David and Edgerton. Fogarty just didn't quite make it, and they didn't have anyone else in Seattle who fit that description.

"We'll bring you in as soon as it's safe, Don, I promise you," Fogarty said as they got out of the truck. Don grimaced, and Megan reached out to squeeze his arm. He met her eyes with an intense look, and she nodded, accepting his trust with that gesture.

* * *

Exhaustion had finally drawn Charlie into an uneasy sleep when the door to the work room slammed open. Startled by the sudden noise, he sat bolt upright, which sent his head swimming. Five guys in masks came barreling into the tiny room and converged on Charlie.

"What's going on?" Charlie exclaimed, but no one said anything. They got him onto his feet and cuffed his hands in front of him. From behind him, someone brought the hood down over his head and secured it around his neck. "Let me go!" Charlie demanded, pulling at the hands that held him. Abruptly, the answer to his question came to him. Rescue. The FBI was here, and his captors were trying to escape with him.

This realization galvanized him. They took him out into the workroom and out through the door he'd never seen the other side of. As they went up the steps, Charlie began to struggle and shout at the top of his lungs, hoping to catch the attention of someone friendly. One of the men slammed a fist into his solar plexus, doubling Charlie up and putting paid to both shouts and struggles.

"What the hell was that for?" Bill demanded.

"We don't have time for a gag," an unfamiliar voice answered. "Move, gentlemen!"

Charlie didn't think the word 'gentleman' described any of his current companions, but he didn't have the breath to say so.

They half-carried him through unknown space and into some kind of vehicle. Charlie heard the door slam shut. Then they lifted him off his feet and lowered him into a space no wider than his shoulders. He tried to sit up, tried to get loose, but they forced him back and then a lid came down on top of him, and he began to panic. He could feel the top of the box too close to his face, and he couldn't even pound properly with his hands still cuffed in front of him. All of the walls were padded, so even his kicking was muffled. The darkness was absolute.

He forced his breathing to slow down. Panic wouldn't help him get through this. Fight or flight was only a useful response when one or the other was possible. Otherwise, it just wound you up and wore you out to no purpose.

Locked into a box that was barely big enough for him, he had trouble applying rationality to his physical reactions.

* * *

Listening to the raid was insanely frustrating. Don and Colby sat side by side in the mobile surveillance van, headphones on. The teams had raided the house and the barn at the same time. In the house they had found only two guys, both clearly packing things up for a hurried getaway. The barn proved to be more populated, and Don kept clenching his fists. Waiting for news about Charlie was killing him.

Then David's voice came over the radio. "Well, he's been here," David said. "No doubt about it, but he's not here now."

"I thought he wasn't helping," Garrick said.

"This isn't helping, man, I can tell you that," David replied.

"What do you see?" Don asked before he could stop himself.

"Math. That P stuff, I think."

Don swore under his breath. If they had driven him to that stupid P vs. NP problem in less than a week . . .

He went silent again, just listening.

* * *

So far, they hadn't found Charlie. They'd found signs, disturbing ones, but they hadn't found Charlie himself. Megan came back upstairs out of the little prison that they'd found, glaring at the bastards who'd been keeping Charlie in that little space. Most of them were in some level of tactical gear, clearly in the process of changing into street clothes. Garrick was asking them one at a time for Charlie's location, and most of them were faking out like they didn't know.

Megan climbed into the back of the van that occupied the center of the barn, looking around at it. The benches along the sides were wide, clearly designed to carry large numbers of people in maximum comfort. She went down on her knees. There was also plenty of space for storage inside them. She felt under the edge of one of them to see if she could find a latch, and found one almost instantly. The lid still wouldn't open, though, so she felt further along. There appeared to be three latches evenly spaced along the front of the bench. She lifted the lid, prepared for almost anything, but all it revealed were more illegal machine guns and boxes of ammo. Turning, she checked the same spots on the other side, and as soon as she popped the last one, the lid flew up and slammed against the wall of the van to reveal a slight figure in dark sweats and a black hood, hands cuffed in front of him.

She could hear him panting under the hood, and he kept trying to sit up without much success. Megan shoved her gun into her belt and fished for her handcuff keys even as she leaned forward to reassure him. "Charlie, it's Megan."

"Let go of me," Charlie moaned, straining to get up. "Let go . . ."

Megan undid the handcuffs as quick as she could and helped him sit up. He smacked at her, but she could tell he hadn't recognized her yet. She found the ties that held the hood closed and loosened it, pulling it off. "Charlie, it's me, Megan."

He stared at her, blinking in the brightness, then he flung his arms around her and buried his face in her chest.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"We've got him! Megan's got him!"

Those words electrified Don. He threw the headphones off onto the console and ran out of the van. They'd already declared the site clear, and he was not staying away from his brother one second longer than he had to. He heard voices behind him, but he was past listening. Charlie needed him, and at this moment, that was all that mattered. He knew where the man who'd called in the discovery was, so he hurried straight towards the barn. Fogarty met him at the door and guided him towards a van where Charlie was sitting inside some kind of seating/storage unit. Charlie had clutched onto Megan like she was Mom waking him out of a nightmare.

Handcuffs on the floor of the van, and a black hood lying half in and half out of the box made some of that nightmare clearer. Realization struck Don hard as he looked around. They'd been preparing to move Charlie. They'd known they were being raided and had tried to move him.

Don got into the van on his knees. "Charlie, buddy?" He put a hand on Charlie's back and rubbed.

Charlie looked up, releasing his death grip on Megan. "Donnie?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Don squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I'm here." Charlie looked terrible. He had a full and shaggy beard, and his eyes were shadowed.

"Can I have a sandwich?" Charlie asked with an oddly endearing grin.

"You can have whatever you want, buddy."

Charlie stared at him a moment longer and then launched himself at him. Don found himself in a bear hug with his brother. He squeezed back and started automatically murmuring reassurances. Charlie was incredibly thin, and Don could feel him shaking with emotion. Time passed at an unsteady pace for him for awhile, until Megan came back and told him they had an ambulance ready for them. He got Charlie up and moving out of the van, but when the emergency technicians started to try and get Charlie to lie down on the gurney, he was suddenly behind Don, his hands clutching Don's shoulders.

"No. Absolutely not. No."

"Charlie, they just want to take care of you."

"I can sit up," Charlie said, and his grip on Don was like iron.

"No problem," said one of the EMTs, evidently sensitive to Charlie's sheer level of panic. "You can sit on the side. Come with me."

"Don?" Charlie said, moving back out of the EMT's reach.

"It's okay, buddy," Don said, putting an arm around Charlie's shoulders. "I'm coming too."

He managed to get Charlie into the ambulance, and they all wound up sitting on either side of the gurney. Charlie and Don sat side by side, and Don still had an arm around Charlie's shoulder. The EMT started taking Charlie's blood pressure and other vitals, but Charlie didn't seem to care.

"Dr. Eppes, what can you tell us about your condition?" the EMT asked.

"Do you have a name?" Charlie asked. "I'm tired of people without names."

"Kevin," the EMT said. "Now, what's happened to you?"

"Well, I was kidnapped, kept in a tiny room, I haven't been fed properly, and they decided to beat up on me a bit yesterday." This terse summation had the effect of lifting the lid on Don's anger. He struggled to keep it inside, knowing that Charlie really didn't need an explosion from him right now. In fact, Charlie turned to him. "I'm sorry, Don. I tried not . . . I didn't mean to . . . I –"

"Charlie, don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong," Don said, pulling him into a close hug. "Nothing, buddy, I swear."

"I tried," Charlie said again.

"Sir," Kevin protested. "Please, not now." A little irritated, Don let up on the hug a little. "Now, Dr. Eppes, when you say they beat up on you, what do you mean?" Kevin asked. "Do you have anything broken? Do your ribs hurt?"

"Bruises is all, I think," Charlie said.

"What did they do exactly?"

Charlie shrugged. "Hit me. Pushed me around a lot. Made me stand up, made me sit down, lots of stupid ranting, no food till . . ." He blinked. "Do you have anything like Gatorade? I haven't had any food since the morning after they grabbed me . . . I think . . . time got sort of hard to count."

"It's been a week, Charlie," Don said, appalled. They'd starved him? "A week exactly."

"A week." Charlie blinked. "I stopped counting, which is funny, because after I got the chalk, I could have, but I didn't. I don't know why. I guess it didn't occur to me."

Okay, now he was babbling. Don kept his mouth shut by dint of great effort. Kevin nodded. "You said no food till . . . till when?"

Charlie sighed. "Day before yesterday, in the evening, they brought me a protein drink. I couldn't get most of it down. My stomach hurt, and it was too sweet. Then yesterday I had some beef broth, and same thing today."

"All you've had all week is beef broth?" Don exclaimed incredulously

"I had a bite or two of eggs the first day," Charlie said. "And a piece of toast. But after that I never got any actual food." Don didn't blow up, but he did squeeze Charlie's shoulders. "Is Dad okay?" Charlie asked abruptly. "No one got anywhere near him, did they?"

Don shook his head. "Dad's fine. He's had teams on him night and day since you went missing, and right now he's got Millie, Larry and Amita at the house with him."

"Good, good." Charlie fell silent for a few minutes, and then they arrived at the hospital. Don stayed with him by a simple refusal to be parted from him. Charlie's near-hysterical demands that he not leave helped a bit with convincing the emergency room staff.

Fortunately, there wasn't much physically wrong with Charlie beyond bruises and malnutrition. Emotionally . . . that was a bigger question, and not one that would be answered today. Finally, they were left alone. Charlie was asleep, on an IV drip to hydrate and nourish him, in an ordinary hospital room, and they'd provided Don with a recliner so he could sleep if he wanted to.

He wasn't near that point. He sat in one of the more uncomfortable chairs he'd ever experienced, glad to be able to watch his brother sleep. Glad just to be with him again, to be able to stand between Charlie and anyone who wanted to hurt him. That was the natural order of things, after all. Big brother watches out for little brother.

Gazing down at Charlie, he wondered where he could find a razor. The bastards evidently hadn't let Charlie shave, because his beard was longer than Don had ever seen it. It looked shaggy and unkempt, and Don knew Charlie had to hate it.

Time passed. Nurses and doctors came in and out, checking on Charlie, who never woke. He had to be exhausted, that was all Don could figure. He still didn't know what all the kidnappers had done to him. The explanations Charlie had given to the EMTs were sort of vague and definitely incomplete, and Don wasn't in the loop regarding the interrogation of the guys who'd been captured.

He thought about calling his father and asking him to bring a razor, but no doubt he was already on the way. Megan had promised to call him, and Don knew that his father would come the minute he heard that Charlie was in the hospital and staying there for a minimum of twenty-four hours. The doctors wanted to get him hydrated and to the point of being able to eat on his own before he left.

Members of Cochrane's and Garrick's teams kept showing up and poking their heads in. Megan stopped by periodically. Don understood their need to talk to Charlie, but he'd really rather they backed off, even Megan, who he knew was genuinely concerned about Charlie as a person, not just as a source of information about the bad guys.

It had been nearly six hours since their arrival at the hospital when a nurse came in to change an IV, and the quiet noise finally woke Charlie up. His eyes fluttered and he didn't say anything immediately. Don leaned forward. "You with us, Chuck?" he asked.

Charlie's eyes flicked to his face. "Oh, thank God. I thought they'd moved me . . . I thought . . ." He took a deep breath and his eyes filled with tears that he didn't shed.

"It's okay, buddy," Don said. "You're safe, we're in a hospital in Seattle."

"Seattle, Washington?" Charlie asked. "Is that where they took me?"

"Yup," Don replied. "To a farmhouse outside –"

The door opened and Don broke off, looking up in irritation. Cochrane poked his head in. "Do my ears deceive me, or is Dr. Eppes awake?" He saw Charlie blinking at him in surprise at the interruption and came the rest of the way in, grinning.

Don glanced over at Charlie to see how he was taking the intrusion. His eyes were wide with incipient panic, but he just turned his head slightly towards Don so that he could still see both men and said, "Who is he?"

"ATF," Cochrane announced, coming forward to offer Charlie his hand. "Agent Jacob Cochrane."

Charlie took Cochrane's hand and shook it, though he still looked very uneasy. "How did the ATF get involved in this?" he asked.

"We're all very glad you're back, safe and sound, and –"

Charlie turned to Don when Cochrane didn't answer the question. "The ATF was watching the farm you were on, Charlie," Don said. Cochrane shot him a faintly irritated look.

Charlie blinked. "Watching? For how long?"

"Actually, we've been watching the place for months, but we didn't know they'd brought a prisoner there."

Don grimaced at the expression on Charlie's face. He leaned forward and met his brother's eyes. "We were only certain you were there about ten hours before we came and got you," he said and was rewarded by seeing Charlie's faint nod of comprehension. "I'm sorry it took so long, buddy."

Charlie smiled weakly. "We knew they were good," he said.

Cochrane spoke right over the top of Charlie's words. "So, Dr. Eppes, we've got some questions we need to ask." Charlie blinked at him owlishly. "Do you feel up to answering?"

Charlie shrugged tiredly. "I guess. Can I have something to drink?" Don picked up the pitcher of water and poured Charlie a cup, giving Cochrane a glare to warn him to go easy. Cochrane didn't seem to see it as he pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Charlie took a swallow, then looked up at Cochrane. "Go ahead."

"Can you tell me who was in charge of that little operation?" Cochrane asked.

Charlie shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest clue. Only one man ever spoke to me, and I occasionally got the feeling he was following a script laid out by someone else."

"Can you describe the man who spoke to you?"

"Blue eyes, about six foot or a little more, beyond that, no." Cochrane raised his eyebrows, and Charlie grimaced. "I never saw anyone's face. They always wore masks, and Bill, he told me that wasn't his name, told me that they'd kill me if I ever saw their faces. I didn't . . . I believed him." Charlie spoke with complete sincerity, and a vulnerability that was heartbreaking. Don's fists clenched in his lap, and he wanted to break someone's face.

"So, you won't recognize any of them from a photo line up?" Cochrane asked.

"Unless his eyes stand out somehow, no," Charlie said. "If I heard them speak, I could identify him and two other guys."

"I thought no one else spoke to you?" Cochrane asked.

"No one else did," Charlie said. "But two of them spoke while I was present, to Bill." Charlie leaned his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, already seeming exhausted by the questions.

"I see." Cochrane pursed his lips, looking down at Charlie. Don wondered what he saw. Evidently he was perceptive enough to recognize that Charlie was close to the end of his endurance, because he took a step back and said, "Well, before I ask too many more questions, I think I'd better get some of the other guys in here so that you don't have to go over it all more than once."

"Good plan," Don said. Cochrane nodded and went out. "You okay, Chuck? You can tell them to come back later if you're not up to it."

Charlie opened his eyes and looked up at Don. "I'm okay, Don. I'm beeping, but I'm okay."

Don glanced up at the machines. "Yeah, that gets kind of annoying, doesn't it?"

"It beats total silence," Charlie said, and Don stared at him. "I was . . . I was alone an awful lot, and concrete makes a pretty good sound break."

Still looking at the machines, Don said cleared his throat nervously. "So, I hear you started in on P vs. NP."

"They couldn't use that," Charlie said with a grin, and Don turned back to him in surprise. "I didn't want to give them anything they could use."

Don grinned back. "So it wasn't . . ." He realized abruptly that he didn't want to finish the sentence.

Charlie laughed. "Not really. I started working on something else, but something Bill said implied that they had someone who could check my work, and I didn't want to give them anything they could use, even sell for funding, you know? I really don't like them."

Don snorted, but before he could respond, the door opened again, admitting Cochrane who began speaking before he'd even entered the room. "All right, Dr. Eppes, here we all are." A group of people from various agencies filed in. Megan managed to slip in at the end of the group, but neither David nor Colby did. Don kept his seat by Charlie's bed, determined not to leave his brother's side. "We'll try to get through this as quickly as possible."

"I'd appreciate that," Charlie said, looking with clear misgivings around at the ten or eleven men in the room. Cochrane opened his mouth to speak, but Charlie held up a hand. "Wait." He leaned sideways, peering at a figure in the back of the room. "Ian? What are you doing here?"

Edgerton shrugged. "Looks like the fugitive I was after was involved in your little situation," Edgerton said.

Charlie blinked at him, but didn't say anything. Don wondered what he thought of having his ordeal described as his 'little situation.' Silence fell in the room. "You guys had questions?" Don asked finally to get the ball rolling.

"Yeah," Fogarty said. "Okay, Charlie, can you tell us what happened at the safe house?"

Charlie shook his head. "I don't actually remember much," he said. "Just disconnected flashes of chaos and violence." His voice shook on the last word. "I think the drug they gave me . . ." He touched the back of his neck where the doctors had identified another chemical burn, this one largely healed. "I think it impaired my memory."

"So, what's the first thing you remember clearly?"

"Waking up in the pitch dark, strapped down to a gurney," Charlie said. Don's stomach twisted at the image, but it certainly explained Charlie's reaction to the EMTs. "It took me a little while to realize I was in a boat. I . . . Bill was there. He untied me, but it was dark so I couldn't see him. He told me he had tasks for me." Charlie fell silent for a moment, and Don bit his lip, wishing this could wait. Charlie looked pretty damned freaked out.

"Did he say what they were?" Fogarty asked.

"Not then."

"What did he say?"

"He just made a lot of threats," Charlie said. "If I saw their faces, they'd have to kill me, if I didn't work, he might not be able to restrain his colleagues from trying violence to make work. He . . . he told me where the head was and then he left the room."

"Then what?"

"Nothing for a long time," Charlie said. "When they came back, they strapped me down to the gurney again and put a . . . a hood over my head." He looked over at Don. "I tried to fight back, but there were too many of them and I . . . I . . ."

"It's okay, buddy," Don murmured.

"Yeah, no one expects you to fight off a group of armed soldiers," Fogarty said, patting Charlie's foot.

Don could tell that Charlie didn't really appreciate the remark or the gesture, but his brother didn't say anything.

"So, they strapped you to the gurney and hooded you. Then what?"

"They loaded me onto a truck, then doused the lights and let me loose. There were five or six guys in the back of the truck with me, but only Bill talked, and he didn't say . . ." He paused and turned to Don. "Have I mentioned that Bill is the guy who was in our house?"

"No, bud, you haven't," Don said. Five guys bent to their notebooks. It was almost comical.

"How long do you think you were in the truck?"

"I'm not sure," Charlie said. "I fell asleep."

"Okay, what happened when you woke up?"

"They put the hood back on me and walked me down into that concrete room. I smelled onions and dirt. I knew I was going underground, twenty steps, short ones, probably six inches on average, they weren't even. They put me in a cell with . . . I guess you've seen it." Charlie looked up and there were nods all around. "And Bill told me that no harm would come to me if I cooperated. I told him I wouldn't, and he suggested that boredom might persuade me and left me alone."

"What did he want you to do? Hadn't he told you that yet?"

Charlie shook his head. "No, I didn't find out till the next morning . . . or whenever. I didn't see daylight again till I woke up here." He gestured towards the window. "My time sense got all screwed up. I thought of it as morning because I woke up and the food they brought in was breakfast food."

"What did they want you to do, Dr. Eppes?" asked Garrick.

Charlie looked over at him uncertainly. "You are?"

"Special Agent Garrick, Seattle Office."

Charlie nodded. "Um . . . they wanted me to help them plan terrorist attacks to bring full scale war across the whole Middle East."

A murmur arose at this announcement, and Don sat back in his chair, astounded. They'd thought they could persuade Charlie to help with that?

"So they wanted you to plan attacks where?" Agent Garrick asked. "Which Middle East countries?"

Charlie blinked, and Don wondered what was wrong with the question. "I only know about the first two attacks," Charlie said slowly. "The first one was on a military base situated near a village in Iran." He gulped. "They wanted to make it look like the CIA did it, and if that didn't spark a sufficiently large retaliatory attack on U.S. soil, they planned a 911-style attack in Los Angeles." For several long moments, the only sound in the room was the beeping of Charlie's monitors. "I did my best to convince them that their plans were not going to have the outcome they wanted. I did probability curves based on their data and . . ." He shrugged. "Bill got really mad."

"Did he hurt you?" Don demanded.

"Don!" Fogarty hissed, and Don shook his head. He looked at Charlie, who had closed his eyes again. He was so pale, and so tired.

"Maybe Agent Eppes should wait outside till we're done with this," Agent Garrick suggested, and there were reluctant nods of agreement all around. Don clenched his jaw, prepared to fight to keep from leaving his brother alone, but Charlie took matters into his own hands.

"What?" Charlie said incredulously, opening his eyes again. He looked at Agent Garrick. "My brother wants to know if Bill hurt me, and that means he should leave?"

Agent Cochrane cleared his throat. "Dr. Eppes, we have questions we need to ask, and he's not part of that. He knows –"

"I don't care," Charlie said. "What got me through the last week was knowing that my brother and his team were looking for me." He gazed at Cochrane through narrowed eyes. "I don't know you, I don't know most of the people in this room, and not one of you has introduced yourself without my having to ask first."

"Dr. Eppes, we –" Cochrane started, but Charlie shook his head.

"And you were watching that house all week, while they asked me to do those crazy things, while they put food in front of me and told me I couldn't have it, while they punched and hit me to make me yell so they could play a recording of it for my brother, you were there . . ."

"We didn't know!" Cochrane exclaimed.

Charlie squeezed his eyes closed, and Don bit his lip, taking his brother's hand. Charlie's grip tightened over Don's fingers. "I know you didn't know, but . . ." Charlie said slowly. He shook his head again. "It doesn't help. Somehow, the thought that the ATF was outside my prison the whole time, just watching, somehow it bothers me anyway."

No one seemed to know what to say to that, and Don wasn't surprised. There wasn't much anyone could say to that.

Raised voices issued through the door from outside. "What do you mean, I can't go in? That's my son in there, and I –"

"Okay, that's it," Charlie said wearily. "We can do this later. I am not having you refuse my father entrance to my hospital room."

"Oh, does the poor little mathematician want his daddy?" asked someone Don didn't know. He didn't even know what agency the bastard was from.

Charlie closed his eyes and his grip tightened even further on Don's hand. The two people nearest the idiot hushed him, but Edgerton spoke up loud and clear. "Yes, well, the poor little mathematician isn't the one who's going to stick a rifle up your ass and pull the trigger."

"We're done here for now," Garrick said into the uneasy silence that followed. "Let Mr. Eppes in and let's clear out." His voice sharpened. "Harmon, I'll see you in my office." Apparently the jackass was FBI. Don resolved to look him up later if he got the time.

When the door opened, their father burst into the room, glaring around at the agents who were milling about, waiting to leave. "What is this, a suit convention?" he demanded. "Charlie! Charlie, are you all right?"

Charlie released Don's hand to hug their father and Don left them to their reunion. The largest part of the crowd had left the room, but Megan and Edgerton were still there. Don walked over to his second. "Where are David and Colby?"

"Outside," Megan said.

"Get them, would you?" Don asked. "I know Charlie will want to see them when he's done with Dad." She nodded and stepped out.

"Do you think I should clear out?" Edgerton asked.

Don snorted. "No, you should probably hide out in here till someone decides that you were kidding."

"Who says I was kidding? What a prick."

"Don? Don!" Charlie's voice sounded almost panicked, and Don hurried back to his side.

"I'm here, buddy," he said reassuringly, taking Charlie's hand again and sitting down. "I was just talking to Edgerton."

Charlie looked at him for a moment, then turned. "Ian?" Edgerton walked to the foot of the bed. "Thank you, and I'm glad you're here, but . . . could you come back later? I just . . . I need . . ."

"Hey, no problem, voodooman," Edgerton said, and a grin flickered on Charlie's lips. "Poor little mathematician, my ass. I know that prick. You've solved more cases than he has, hands down." He gave Charlie's foot a little shake. "I'll see you later."

Megan, David, and Colby came in as Edgerton left. To Don's surprise, Larry Fleinhardt came in with them. He must have kept Dad company on the flight up from LA. Don was glad that someone had.

"Hey, guys," Charlie said.

"Hey, Charlie, good to see you," David said.

"Likewise," Colby said. "This room seems a little crowded, though, so if you want –"

"You should have seen it five minutes ago," Charlie said with a wry twist to his lips.

"What was all that?" Alan asked.

"A debriefing," Charlie said. "I think they got the important stuff before I kicked them out."

"You kicked out the FBI?" their father asked.

"The FBI, the ATF, and whoever else shoehorned their way in," Charlie said. He was fading fast, Don could tell. "What's everyone doing in Seattle?"

"We came to see you!" Alan said. "Larry kept me company on the flight, but he'll have to go back if we stay longer than a day or so."

Don backed up and practically shoved the diffident little physicist into the spot he'd just vacated.

"Charles," Larry said, his eyes fixed on Charlie's face.

"Lawrence?" Charlie replied with a small smile.

"It is good to see you. Amita sends her love. She and Dr. Finch have remained in Pasadena to prepare the house for your return."

Charlie's eyes were closing. "Millie's in my house, preparing stuff?" he asked.

"I think they're washing sheets and making beds," Alan said.

"Be nice to Megan," Charlie said to Larry, clearly on his last legs of consciousness. "She saved my sanity."

"What do you mean, Charles?" Larry asked

"She got me out of the box." Charlie shivered, and he looked up at Don, then over at their father. "You staying?"

"Of course, we're staying," Dad said. "Right Donnie?"

Charlie's eyes sought his, and Don smiled. "Yeah, Chuck, you're stuck with me."

"Don't call me Chuck," Charlie murmured as he fell asleep.

* * *

_A/N: There is still more to come. Please keep the reviews coming!_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Megan watched Charlie drift off, very grateful to hear him making one of his usual complaints to Don. If he could still worry about which nickname Don used, he was going to be okay.

Alan abruptly sank into the recliner beside the bed and started to weep. Megan started to move towards him, but to her surprise, Don was at his side before she took more than a couple of steps.

"It's okay, Dad," Don said, going down on his knees in front of the chair, his hands on his father's knees. "He's okay."

Alan didn't speak, he just surged forward and hugged Don. Megan turned towards Larry, who had a sloppy, sentimental look on his face. David and Colby were already sneaking out of the room. Megan put an arm around Larry's shoulders and guided him out, too.

As soon as the door was shut, Cochrane materialized out of the shadows and pounced on them. "Did he say anything else?" he asked.

"Can you give him a break?" David asked irritably. "He's with his family, for crying out loud."

Cochrane turned to her. Megan put on a pleasant expression. "What he said was that he thought he'd given you everything of import already."

"Damn, I was hoping he'd have more information about hierarchy."

"It sounds like they were keeping as much as possible from him," Megan said. "Not a big surprise, all in all." She turned towards Larry and her team. "Now, I haven't eaten since . . ." She paused thoughtfully. "I'm not sure when I last ate. Guys?"

"I grabbed a bite on the way to the airport, but that was hours ago," Colby said. "Let's find a restaurant."

"I could eat."

"There was nothing on the plane that I found palatable," Larry said.

They started moving towards the exit, away from Agent Cochrane. "No white food, eh?" Colby asked with a chuckle.

"No," Larry said soberly.

"But what about all that math he did?" Cochrane asked, and Megan was surprised to find that he'd caught up with them.

"None of that meant anything," David said. "It was that P vs. P stuff."

"P vs. NP?" Larry corrected. "That's . . . not good."

"What do you mean?" Cochrane asked. Larry gave him a dubious look and didn't answer. "What is it?"

"It's an unsolvable problem," David said. "Charlie works on it sometimes, but I can assure you, it wouldn't help our friends."

"Certainly not," Larry replied. They continued moving towards the exit, and Cochrane kept pace with them. After a moment, Larry paused and turned to him. "Excuse me, were you under the impression that you were invited to join us?"

"Excuse me?" Cochrane exclaimed. "Join you where?"

"Dinner," Larry said. He glanced at Megan. "That is where we're going, is it not?"

"Yup," Megan replied.

"Agent Reeves, we need to find out everything Dr. Eppes knows about –"

"Dr. Eppes is asleep," Megan said sharply. "And I hope he stays that way for a good long time. What he needs right now is a good night's sleep and the company of his family so that he suffers as little trauma as possible at this point. When he's rested and had some time with Alan and Don, then maybe he'll be ready to talk to you in detail, but the man's been through hell."

"We need to know if he did any work for them at all," Cochrane said. "We need to know if there's anything moving forward out there."

Both David and Colby started sputtering, and Megan took a deep breath to calm herself before she put Cochrane in his place. Larry, who had long years of practice dealing with unruly post adolescents, was the first to get his words in order.

"I can assure you that Charles did no work for them whatsoever," he said primly. "What makes you think that Charles would work for these people, whoever they were?"

"Sir, you shouldn't even be part of this conversation," Cochrane said. "You don't have clearance for –"

"What do you know of my clearance?" Larry asked curiously. "Do you even know my name?" Cochrane gaped at him. "I am Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt, and I consulted on this investigation. I work closely with Dr. Eppes, and have done so for years."

"And we're going to need him," David said suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Charlie's probably not going to be real – he's going to be freaked. We'll need someone to explain the math to us. That means Dr. Fleinhardt, since Dr. Ramanujan is still in LA."

"We have our own consultants, Agent Sinclair."

"Who aren't going to get within ten feet of Charlie unless he's comfortable with them," Megan said. "This is pointless, Agent Cochrane. You don't know Charlie, so let me explain it to you. Charlie didn't work for them. Charlie would never work for them. Charlie could no more help terrorists than he could help a child molester. Furthermore, do you really think they would still have been torturing him if he'd agreed to help their cause?" Larry went a shade paler at the word torturing, but Megan couldn't take the time to respond to his anxiety. "You heard him, he ran an analysis to explain why their plan wouldn't work. Anyway, I haven't eaten in at least twelve hours, and I'd like to be back here before Charlie wakes up. Do you mind?"

Cochrane looked mildly chastened, and Megan hoped it would last. She didn't want to be responsible for inter-agency friction, but she wasn't going to put up with any crap with regard to Charlie, and neither would anyone else who was here from LA, not even Fogarty. If nothing else, he knew how instrumental Charlie had been in his own rescue.

They found a quiet family restaurant. It wasn't particularly crowded, and Megan convinced the hostess to put them in the room they were leaving unoccupied so they could have some privacy. When they had ordered and were waiting for their food, Larry looked around at them, then lowered his voice. "When Charlie said you'd gotten him out of a box, did he mean it figuratively?"

Megan pursed her lips, considering how best to put this. David, who'd seen it, looked away, and Colby, who hadn't, leaned towards her. He'd never gotten into the barn. Fogarty had sent him to the hospital to guard Charlie with the dry comment to Megan that it was where he belonged anyway.

"Yeah, what did that mean?" Colby asked.

"It was a literal box," Megan said, reaching out under the table and taking Larry's hand. "When I found him, he was handcuffed and blindfolded and in a box slightly smaller than a coffin."

Larry's eyes widened and he sat back in his chair, his hand tightening over hers. Megan hated seeing the darkness in his gaze. He shook his head. "Words are inadequate to express both my dismay and my anger."

Colby looked at Larry for a long minute, then shook his head. "Right there with you," he said. "Which is pretty bizarre." Larry just nodded at this half-hearted gibe.

The waitress delivered their food, and they all looked at it without moving for a moment. Colby didn't make any remarks on Larry's monochromatic meal, and nobody seemed eager to start eating.

Larry turned to her. "Was it part of the . . . the torture?"

Megan shook her head. "It was for transport," she said, squeezing his hand for reassurance. Neither Larry nor Charlie were really prepared for this kind of crap. "They'd gotten wind of us and were moving him, but . . . I'm sure the torture wasn't any easier."

"Can you tell me what they wanted from him?" Larry asked.

"Sure, but not here," Megan said. "Colby and David don't know yet, either."

"Who was that man with all the questions?"

"An ATF agent," Colby said.

"If they weren't done, why did they leave so quickly?" David asked.

Megan snorted. "Charlie told them to – after Garrick suggested that Don should leave during the debriefing because he was too close to the situation. Oh, and after he heard his dad demanding entrance."

"What kind of idiots are they?" Colby demanded. "You always give a kidnap victim time with those closest to them right after you bring them back. And it's not like they don't have enough to hold the bastards on."

"Perhaps they simply see Charles as a kind of superior adding machine," Larry suggested. "Certainly the kidnappers did, if they thought he would cooperate with their plans."

"Well, if they do, they've got another think coming," Megan said. "And I'll be happy to give it to them."

"With a baseball bat if necessary," Colby added.

* * *

Charlie woke up to more beeping and a familiar snoring. The sounds reassured him. He wasn't back in his little cement room, he hadn't dreamed the rescue, he was safe with Don and Dad. He opened his eyes. The lights in the hospital room had been dimmed slightly, and it was dark outside. Dad lay in the recliner, snoring gently. Charlie looked around for Don and found him on his other side, awake and reading _Sports Illustrated_.

"Hey buddy," Don said quietly.

"Hey Don," Charlie replied.

"How you doing?"

Charlie shook his head. He hardly knew. "Did you catch them?"

"We did, or at least we think we got all the ones who were at that house."

Charlie blinked. "What do you mean?" Don gave him a worried look, and Charlie knit his brows. "Don?"

"They seem to have some kind of a network all over the place," Don said. "I got a call that was supposedly from you, directing me to pick you up at the tar pits, but when we traced it, we found out it came from Arkansas."

Charlie turned his head forward and looked at the shadowy wall next to the door. "That shouldn't surprise me," he said, but it did.

"There are guards outside the room," Don said. He got up and stood by the bed, looking down at Charlie. "You're safe."

"No!" Charlie retorted, shaking his head and closed his eyes. "I don't want bodyguards, Don."

"These aren't bodyguards, per se, Charlie. You were just rescued from kidnapping. We'd have guards on you anyway."

Charlie gave his brother what he hoped was a calm, determined look. "I don't want guards," he said firmly.

Don shook his head, looking almost irritated. "It's not really optional at the moment," Don replied. "Charlie, I –"

"Bill said they killed them all. Did they? Are . . ." Charlie heard his voice wobble, and his control started to desert him. He strove to stay cool. "Are they all dead?" he asked, then stared anxiously at his brother, waiting for an answer.

Don was silent for a moment. "No, Charlie, they're not all dead," he said.

Charlie's mind seized on the key word. All. If they weren't _all_ dead, then some of them were. Don didn't go on immediately, didn't elaborate. Charlie gazed intently at him, but he was looking down at his lap. "Don?" His brother looked up. "How many died?

"Four," Don said, and Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. Four was better than six, but it was still four too many. "Miller and Perez survived. Leider lived for awhile, but he died early Tuesday morning."

"How badly off are Miller and Perez?" Charlie asked, but he had those images flying through his mind. Frightened, angry faces, blood, bodies on the ground. He didn't really hear Don's answer, and he spoke over the end of it. "I don't want people getting hurt and killed protecting me," he said, aware of an edge of hysteria coloring his tone.

"Of course not," Don said, putting his hand on Charlie's arm, "but they knew what –"

"I had blood on me, Don," Charlie burst out suddenly, real hysteria making his voice louder than he intended. He hadn't meant to tell anyone about that, but the words just erupted from him, beyond his control. "It was dark most of the time on the boat, but eventually the lights came on and there was a mirror in the bathroom. It . . . I thought it was dirt or maybe drool from the time I'd spent unconscious, but it was blood, on my face, in my hair, on my clothes. I don't even know whose blood it was, and I couldn't . . . I didn't . . . I don't . . ." Charlie's words gave way to sobs that were just as unexpected and uncontrolled as his outburst had been. Suddenly Don was on the bed with him, holding him close.

A moment later, he felt his father's hand on his back, rubbing gently.

* * *

Don waited until Charlie's sobs had slowed, till he seemed a little more coherent, and then he said, "You know, Charlie, they didn't just do it for you. They didn't know – none of us knew what the bastards wanted, but whatever it was had to be bad. They died protecting not just you, but the whole country."

Charlie shook his head, his face screwed up in distress. "I was there, Don. Those men died . . . they fell around me . . . I don't really remember much, but it's enough . . ."

"Charlie," Don said, but his brother didn't seem to hear him.

"I don't ever want that to happen again," Charlie cried.

"It wasn't your fault, Charlie," Dad said, putting his hands on Charlie's shoulders.

"That's not the point," Charlie replied.

"Then what is?"

Charlie shook his head and pulled away. Don shifted back to his chair to give him more space. "You have nothing to feel guilty for, Charlie," he said.

"I don't feel guilty!" Charlie declared angrily. "I just don't want guards."

"Well, the ones here in the hospital are as much for other patients as for you," Don said. "No one's likely to try for you here when there are guards. We can discuss other arrangements later."

"No guards, Don," Charlie said, but he seemed to be losing steam again.

"Go to sleep, Charlie," their father said, pushing Charlie back to the bed. "Don't worry about it now."

Charlie turned back to Don and reached for him. "No guards, Don."

Don took his hand. "Go to sleep," he said. "We'll talk later."

"Don!" Charlie muttered, complaining.

"Sorry, Chuck, that's the way it is."

"No fair," Charlie murmured, drifting off.

Don and his father sat silently for a few moments, then Alan walked around the bed and squatted in front of Don. "What happened to those guards, Don?"

"They died, Dad," Don said. "There's not much –"

"What did Charlie see?"

Don shook his head, glancing over at his brother. "We don't know exactly what happened. Miller is still too out of it to answer questions, Perez was knocked out immediately, and Charlie's memory is fuzzed by drugs."

"Well, what do you know?" Alan asked. "If Charlie starts remembering things . . . I want to know what happened so I can help him cope."

Don closed his eyes, imagining that bloody scene. "It seems clear that there were three men around Charlie, guiding him to the car, and Perez confirms that was the plan. Two of them were shot and died on the scene, the third was Leider, who died in the hospital four days later."

"Leider?" Alan repeated. "That blond boy with the green eyes?"

Don nodded. He wasn't used to his father knowing the people who died on cases he was involved with. "Yeah. Corelli and Tutwiler were the other two there." He saw his father's eyes grow distant as he tried to put faces to the names. "Tam was by the car. He died on scene as well. Miller is still in the hospital. Perez has returned to light duty."

"So at least two of these men were right next to Charlie when they were shot?" his father asked.

"Three," Don said. "Corelli was to Charlie's right, Leider was behind him, and Tutwiler was to his left. From what we've been able to gather from the scene and Perez's report, Leider was shot first, in the head. Corelli went down next, and Tutwiler tried to get Charlie to safety at the car. He was shot and actually died over the top of Charlie's laptop case."

"My God," his father breathed.

"We're not sure when Tam was shot, but it must have been early, because he didn't move away from the car. Miller had been watching for traffic on the street, and he was shot as he came running in to help. Perez took a bullet in the shoulder that knocked him down and he hit his head on a stone."

"So, Charlie's the only one who came out of it without a gunshot wound." Don nodded wordlessly. So much death and his brother in the middle of it. It hardly bore thinking about. "So, the sniper must have been pretty good, with all that movement and distance."

"I imagine Ian's on it now," Don said. "Since his fugitive case is wrapped up."

"Well, good. I'm glad to know that some of the people working on this case are people who actually know Charlie and care about him."

Don looked up, startled by the bitter tone in his father's voice. "What do you mean, Dad?"

"I heard some of them talking about him while you were asleep earlier. Like he's some kind of a machine, or like he's some kind of liability. If I didn't want to stay in here with your brother, I would have told them a thing or two."

Don clenched his teeth and lowered his head to hide his expression. A liability? The machine thing he got all the time. Once people got used to the idea of Charlie's near-miraculous solutions, they tended to assume it could be duplicated every time. Hell, he did it himself from time to time. The problem should be nipped in the bud, but most people who thought like that just needed a reality check to restore their perspective. Conversely, anyone who thought of Charlie as a liability needed a sharp smack in the head.

"You gonna be awake for awhile?" he asked.

His father blinked and stood up again. "Yeah, why?"

"I need to go check in. Technically, I'm still on duty."

"Don't go far," Alan said. "Charlie might need you. He doesn't always listen to me."

Don grinned and stood up. "That makes two of us," he said. "I promise, I'll stay close. The guards outside should know where I am." He gave his father's arm a quick squeeze, took a long look at Charlie and then went out into the hall. A glance at his watch told him it was two in the morning, so he didn't expect a real strong presence on site, but he wanted to find out what was going on.

As he turned to one of the guards to ask where there was a phone he could use to call Megan, he saw David striding over from where he'd been standing against a wall, reading the local newspaper. "Hey, Don, how's Charlie?"

"Sleeping again. He woke up for maybe fifteen minutes, but he wasn't up to much."

"Can you spare a few minutes? There's a . . . a situation that needs to be addressed." David drew him aside from the pair of guards on the door and spoke in a low voice. "Megan's doing her best, but I think she could use some back up. Colby and I have been spelling each other, waiting for you to come out."

"Have you guys gotten any sleep?" Don asked. David looked away mutely, which was answer enough. "Why didn't you just come in and get me?"

"Megan's been pretty emphatic on the need for a little family time," David said. "So she didn't think she should be the one to interrupt it."

Don scowled at the wall. "And this needs to be addressed at this hour?"

David nodded. "Unfortunately, there's a couple of . . ." Don watched David edit his choice of words on the fly. "A couple of the higher ups locally aren't listening to anyone about the math Charlie left on the walls and boards. They won't let Larry in to see it, they won't let him see the photographs, and their own experts aren't reachable at the moment."

"And?" Don asked impatiently, not altogether sure where this was going. Because if it was going where he sounded like it was going, he was going to knock some heads in.

"And, as Larry put it, they're theorizing in advance of their data."

"Where are they?" Don asked. "I'm not leaving the hospital. I promised Dad I'd stay close."

"Actually they're in a conference room on this floor. They –"

"These guys know about it?" Don asked, gesturing toward the guards.

"Yeah."

Addressing the guards, Don said, "Hey, if my dad asks, tell him I've gone to . . ." He turned to David.

"Where Garrick and them are," David finished for him.

The guards nodded, and the one on the right said, "No problem, sir."

"Let's go," Don said to David.

"This way." They set off together. "The conversation in the hall got kind of heated, and the hospital offered us a conference room if we'd just take it in there."

"Great." Don shook his head. "You know, my dad heard some of that." David blinked. "Yeah, really not good, him hearing some jerkwad talking about Charlie being a liability."

"Man," David muttered.

"So, who's gone all stupid about this?" Don asked.

"Cochrane, and Garrick to some extent. Cochrane's the worst, though, because you think you've got him convinced and then he backslides."

Don grimaced. "If they're not listening to Megan, what makes you think they'll listen to me? I'm Charlie's brother."

"You've run your own office. It gives you a certain level of credibility, even so."

Don shook his head. He didn't want to be dealing with this. He wanted to be watching over his brother. He should be able to sit with Charlie instead of dealing with this kind of crap.

"Here it is," David said.

Don took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He gave David a quick look, then opened the door on a tense silence. Cochrane spoke first, before Don had even fully entered the room. "Is your brother awake?" he asked sharply.

"Not now," Don said, glad that he'd taken a moment to calm himself. "The doctors say he's recovering well, but that he'll probably sleep a lot over the next day or so."

"We need more information from him," Garrick said. "We need to know exactly what he was doing."

Don walked all the way into the room and waited for David to come in and then closed the door. "Can you show me the pictures?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"You're not a mathematician, Agent Eppes," Garrick said.

"No, I'm not, but I've been around one for most of my life," Don said. "May I see the photos?"

Garrick nodded, but Cochrane looked like he wanted to object. Fortunately, Garrick had control over the pictures. Don took the little stack and glanced around. Larry was sitting in a corner, looking meditative on the surface, but Don got the impression he was seething underneath. Don walked in that general direction, flipping through the pictures.

"Do you recognize it?" Cochrane asked sarcastically.

"I would be hard pressed not to," Don replied wearily. "I saw this particular math almost daily during the last three months of my mother's life. It's P vs. NP, without a doubt. It's what Charlie does when he's stressed. He pulls out this problem and worries at it."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Don said. "When I get stressed and I have the time, I go throw a baseball. Megan does martial arts. Everyone has something. Charlie has P vs. NP."

"How do we know you're not covering for him?" Cochrane asked.

Don was still wandering, flipping through the photos. He stopped in front of Larry, who looked up at him. His eyes told Don that his interpretation of the physicist's mood was accurate. Don handed him the photos and turned around. "In what sense do you mean, covering for him?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Last I checked, Charlie wasn't accused of anything."

"And no one is accusing Charlie of anything," Garrick said hastily. "We're just concerned. He was with them for a week, and if he gave them something, they could have transmitted the information already. We need to know if that happened."

"It didn't," Don said. "Charlie told me that he was working on P vs. NP in part because he knew they couldn't use it."

"I don't understand. If it's important mathematics, how could he be sure they couldn't use it?"

Larry stood up and walked around him. "In essence, it's a question in theoretical computer science," he said. "It basically asks if the class of problems with solutions that can be quickly computed is identical to the class of problems with solutions that can be quickly verified."

"What?" Cochrane asked. "Wait, what are you doing with those?" He started towards Larry with the clear intention of taking the photos back.

The physicist ducked behind Don, who glared Cochrane back. "What he should have been permitted to do hours ago. Interpreting them. I'm no mathematician, but Larry at least has a grounding in this area."

"He doesn't have clearance for this situation, Agent Eppes," Garrick said. "National security is at stake."

"Not with P vs. NP," Larry said from behind Don. "Which this indubitably is. And an interesting take. Not one I've seen Charles use before."

"Well, I'm not a mathematician, either," Cochrane said, "but I can look stuff up on the internet as well as the next guy. The fact is, the solution to this problem or question or whatever is worth a million bucks. That would fund a lot of terrorist attacks."

Larry emerged again, on the side of Don away from Cochrane. "Assuming Charles had succeeded in answering this question and providing a proof, which he did not, by the way, the villains would first have to have the requisite understanding to recognize that he had solved it. Then, they'd have had to present their solution to the mathematical community at large, where the author of the solution would have to answer questions and defend his work. Since they could hardly produce their kidnapped mathematician nor provide a convincing surrogate, they could not have secured the prize."

"That's all well and good to say, but –"

"And even if they attempted the feat, Charles's work would almost certainly be identified by his peers and the proverbial cat would be out of the bag. As for them using the solution themselves to gain some advantage, that is preposterous. It is an important question in theoretical computer science, but it would have no bearing on bomb-making, tactical planning or anything else of that nature."

A silence that followed Larry's speech. Don glanced back and forth between Cochrane and Garrick, trying to gauge the two men's reactions. "What is going on here?" he asked. "Agent Garrick, you say no one's accusing Charlie of anything, but I have to say, that is not the attitude Agent Cochrane seems to be projecting."

Garrick grimaced, glancing over at Cochrane. "It has been suggested by our colleague from the ATF that if Dr. Eppes were found to have been colluding with the terrorists, it might be actionable."

Don rocked back on his heels, trying to keep from launching himself at Cochrane's throat. "Colluding?" he repeated. "If Charlie had cooperated with them, it would have been under duress," he said. "Furthermore, I told him to cooperate because a civilian's job in this kind of situation is to survive long enough for law enforcement to locate and free them."

"You told him to cooperate with terrorists?" Cochrane exclaimed. "If that isn't a clear –"

"I told him to cooperate with kidnappers of unspecified intent," Don said, walking very close to Cochrane and speaking directly into his face. "And I'm not the one who stood outside that compound with binoculars, coffee and donuts, talking and laughing with my buddies, while Charlie was held prisoner, starved and beaten by those self same terrorists. If I find out you had even one hint, the smallest clue that Charlie was in there and you waited –"

"Back off, Agent Eppes," Garrick ordered, and Don took a deep breath. He wondered where Fogarty was. He should be Megan's back up in this mess, not Don.

The door opened again and, as if Don's thought had summoned him, Fogarty walked in. He took in the situation with widening eyes, and stepped aside to let two other men in. Don recognized one of them. He was a prominent mathematician that he'd seen in photographs of conventions Charlie had attended, usually sitting next to Charlie and grinning at the camera. The other man was some kind of agent, Don wasn't sure which agency. All he knew was that if he had to defend Charlie against anyone else, he was going to shoot someone.

"Gentlemen, Agent Reeves, this is Agent Tom Powell of the NSA and Dr. Michael Bickerson of Northwestern University."

"I brought Dr. Bickerson here to put this question of Dr. Eppes' activities to bed," Powell said. "Where are the photographs?"

"Here," Larry said, walking forward. "It's good to see you, Mike. How is Sylvia?"

"She's fine," Powell said, looking around the room. "Excuse me, but if you have Dr. Fleinhardt here, why did you have to roust me out of bed to check on Charlie's work? Larry may not be the strongest mathematician, but he's certainly good enough to verify the intent of a set of calculations."

"He doesn't have clearance for this project," Garrick said.

Bickerson's brows drew together. "Why on earth not? I mean, the man's been on the space shuttle. If you can trust him in orbit, surely you can trust him with a little matter of national security."

"What are you talking about?" Cochrane demanded.

"Larry was mission specialist on a recent shuttle flight," David said.

"Regardless," Powell said, "as long as you're here, can you please evaluate the work Dr. Eppes has done?"

Bickerson shrugged. "Sure." He took the photos, glanced from one to the next and became instantly riveted. "Oh . . . oh my God . . . what . . . "

Cochrane walked to peer over Bickerson's shoulder as though the other man's understanding was transferable by proximity. "What is it?"

"Is Charlie here?" the professor asked earnestly. "This is . . . I've never seen . . ."

"What is it?" Cochrane demanded almost angrily.

Bickerson jumped and moved away, regarding the ATF agent warily. "I'm not sure what you mean. It's a radical and fascinating approach to a solution to P vs. NP. I'd like to . . . would it be possible to see the whole wall? These photos . . . do they overlap, or . . ." He walked over to the table and began laying them out, trying to put them in the correct relationship to each other. Larry joined him and started helping.

Powell cleared his throat. "The NSA is satisfied that Dr. Eppes' work on P vs. NP does not constitute a national security risk. We are also satisfied with Dr. Eppes' assertion that he did no work in aid of his captors."

"He hasn't actually make such an assertion," Cochrane said. "He insisted that we leave before the question could be asked."

Don started to respond angrily, but Fogarty put a hand on his arm, and gestured to Powell with his head.

"Agent Eppes, did your brother speak to you on this matter?"

"Yes," Don said in as calm a tone as he could muster.

"What did he say?"

"He said he was working on P vs. NP because they couldn't use it, and he didn't want to give them anything they could use."

"Which sounds like an assertion that he did no work in aid of his captors to me," Powell said. "What does it sound like to you, Agent Cochrane?" Cochrane shrugged and didn't speak. "Agent Cochrane, if I don't get an answer out of you, I'm going to call your superior. I don't like being rousted out of my bed anymore than Dr. Bickerson does, and to have it happen because you are having hysterics about some math that you've already had explained to you three times irritates me."

"It's a fascinating approach," Bickerson said suddenly, clearly not paying any attention to what was going on around him. "It raises a lot of interesting questions, not that it's going to work."

"What do you mean?" Larry asked.

"It's a dead end, clearly." He gestured towards sections of the work, and Larry bent forward to study them. "And Charlie knew it . . . see here, it looks like he's starting a new take but . . . where is Charlie anyway?"

The door opened again and the object of their conversation walked in, wrapped in the bathrobe and wearing the slippers that Dad had brought from home. He looked sleepy, but considerably more together than he had the last time Don had seen him awake, and he was holding onto his IV pole. "Don, it's three in the morning. What are you . . ." He stopped talking, taking in the roomful of agents. "Has something happened?" he asked, alarm sharpening his voice.

Don hurried to his side. "No, nothing's wrong, Charlie. Let's get you back to –"

"Charlie!" Bickerson exclaimed coming forward with a hand outstretched.

"Mike?" Charlie said. "What are you doing here?" His eyes widened. "Sylvia's all right, and the kids?"

"No, everything's fine," Bickerson said. "Actually, I'm here because of you."

Charlie blinked at him, freeing his arm from Don's grasp. "Forgive me, Mike, but I didn't think we were that close of friends."

"No, the NSA came and got me," Bickerson explained, nodding at Powell.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Charlie glanced in the direction Mike had indicated and saw Tom Powell from the NSA. "Tom . . ." he said, confused. He looked around the room. Garrick and Cochrane were there with a couple of the other men from his impromptu bedside debriefing. Don still stood near the door, a look of quiet fury on his face now that Charlie had short-circuited his attempt to get him to leave the room, but his anger was definitely not directed at his brother. Megan was in the background, as was David, and both of them looked angry as well. Larry stood by the table, his face somber but his eyes full of roiling emotion. In front of Larry on the table . . . he gazed for a second at the photos. "You were checking on me," he said, and he could hear the accusatory tone in his voice. He turned to Powell. "You were checking my work to see if I'd started planning their attacks for them."

Powell held up his hands. "Actually, I'm here to prove that you didn't," he said. "I knew you didn't."

Charlie shook his head. "I couldn't help them kill people," he said. "But who . . ." He looked around again and saw Don glaring at Cochrane. "The ATF?" he said, turning to Cochrane. The ATF agent turned towards Charlie. "Agent Cochrane, who couldn't wait till I'd been awake a full minute before he started asking questions."

"If you had helped them, Dr. Eppes, you can see that it would have been vital to get the information quickly so we could head off –"

"If I had helped them?" Charlie repeated, anger making him slightly dizzy. "I could never have helped them, but if I had, you'd already know about it because I wouldn't have stopped talking yet." Charlie shook his head. "I certainly wouldn't be hiding it." He sighed. "Some of you people have blinders on when it comes to civilians." He walked over and looked at the photos. "Another dead end," he muttered, looking at his useless efforts.

"But promising," Bickerson said.

Charlie shrugged. "Don, are you done here?" he asked, looking at his brother.

"Yeah, Chuck, I am," he said with a last glare at Cochrane.

"Good," Charlie said. "Because if we stay here too long, Dad's going to wake up and find us gone, and then there'll be hell to pay."

"That's no joke," Don replied.

"Mike, maybe I'll get a chance to see you again before I leave Seattle."

"Come to dinner," Mike said.

"Sure." Charlie smiled at Larry, Megan and David. "I'm going back to bed. If anyone else wants to accuse me of anything, could you make them wait till morning?"

"Sure, Charlie," Megan said, smiling warmly at him.

Don put an arm around his shoulders and drew him towards the door. "Let's go, Chuck."

Charlie glowered at him humorously. "Don't call me Chuck."

"Why not? It gets such a rise out of you."

Charlie had no trouble keeping his emotions in check on the way back to the room, but when they reached it, he pressed his palms against his forehead and felt himself start to shake. "Did they really believe I'd helped those bastards?"

"You were right about the blinders, buddy," Don said. "That's all it is, and some agents have real problems knowing what to do with civilians who consult."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're not agents, but they have clearance to know things and do things that ordinary civilians are restricted from. People like Cochrane can't believe that, without the training agents receive, anyone could resist the kind of treatment you just experienced." Don shrugged. "Idiots happen, unfortunately." Charlie nodded, sighing. "Now, let's get you back into bed."

Charlie let his brother help him back into the hospital bed, and a nurse came in. "How are we feeling, Dr. Eppes?" she asked.

"I'm feeling fine, just a little sleepy," he said. He didn't think they burning anger in his gut was relevant to her query.

"Then go to sleep," she replied. She went to his monitors and took readings, making notes on his chart.

"Can I have some real food for breakfast?" he asked hopefully.

"We'll see," she said with a smile. "Any pain?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Glad to hear it." She made one last check on Charlie's machines, then left. Charlie glanced over at his father, who had not moved at all, then over at Don, who had returned to his _Sports Illustrated._ He sighed and closed his eyes.

What would he have to do for people like Cochrane to believe in him?

* * *

Charlie felt much better now that he'd had some real, solid food. Well, semi-solid food. Jello and oatmeal and applesauce with tea. Bland and easily digested. Nevertheless, it was the first real food he'd had in more than a week, and it made him feel a little more solid himself. When the food had stayed down after several hours, the doctors had released him with a little pamphlet on nutrition, stern instructions regarding eating regularly and orders to see his own doctor at home as soon as possible.

His father had brought him some clothes from home, and Charlie shooed him out of the room so he could change. First, though, and with great relief, he shaved the beard off. It felt great to lose the itchy facial hair. Then he sat down on the chair Don had spent the night in and started pulling on his clothes. He ached, but it was nothing unbearable.

Don had left around eight in the morning to do something work-related, he hadn't been very explicit. Charlie had gotten his socks, boxers and pants on when the door opened and Don walked in. He looked up, startled. "What are you doing in here, Don? I'll be out in a minute."

Don stopped for a moment, staring at Charlie's bare torso. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, his eyes going cold and dark with anger. "Look what they did to you!"

Charlie looked down at the bruises and grimaced. "Yeah, well, it's not particularly attractive and it's kind of painful, but, as Mom used to say, this too shall pass." He shrugged, picking up his t-shirt. "Cliche, trite, but hopeful."

Don was still staring, moving closer. "But Charlie, they beat you . . . I –"

Charlie shuddered and looked up at Don with wide eyes. "Do you _want_ me to curl up in a ball and hide under the bed?"

Don finally shifted his attention to Charlie's face. "No."

"Then please . . . don't," he said. He pulled his t-shirt over his head. "I'm holding it together here, don't pop my bubble, okay?"

"Sorry, bud," Don said, looking uncomfortable. "I just . . ."

Charlie pulled on a button-front shirt and bent to pull his shoes on. Bending gave him a brief spasm of pain, but he hid it because he didn't want to draw Don's attention to his injuries again. "So, where to now?" he asked, sitting up again.

"SeaTac," Don said, and Charlie blinked at him perplexedly. "It's a federal detention center."

"I know what it is, why are we going there?"

"You need to identify the people you can so they know who to charge with what," Don said.

Charlie swallowed uneasily. "Right, of course. How are they going to do it? Put them all in ski masks so I can look at their eyes?"

"Actually, I think they're going to have them say something," Don said. "You said you heard three people speak."

Charlie nodded. He really didn't like the idea of seeing any of those people again, but he supposed he didn't have much choice. He stood up, trying to repress his nerves. "Okay, let's go, then."

"They won't be able to see you, Charlie," Don said. "And hopefully it won't take very long."

"And then we can go home?" Charlie asked hopefully.

"And then we can go home," Don confirmed.

* * *

"No, Dad," Don said, glancing over at Charlie who stood by the government SUV Don had borrowed for the drive to SeaTac that morning. He'd gone in with Megan so they could do their line ups separately from Charlie. Otherwise, they wouldn't let either of them be present while Charlie did his, and Don really didn't want his brother in that room alone with strangers.

He'd managed to convince them that with Megan, Don and Charlie all vouching for the identity of the man who'd come into their house, they wouldn't need his father's identification unless there was disagreement. He hadn't counted on his father's wanting to come.

They were in the parking lot of the motel where the team had stayed the night while Don and his father stayed in the hospital with Charlie, and Don really didn't want to have this conversation quite this publicly, but it hadn't really come up till they were preparing to get into the SUV.

There were other agents around, but no one who had been officially named as Charlie's guard, which Don thought was probably the only reason his brother wasn't objecting to their presence. Don sighed. Charlie looked sort of lost and forlorn, standing there alone.

"I think I should be there," Alan said firmly, drawing Don's attention back to the confrontation. "I'm his father, he needs me."

Don shook his head. "I had enough trouble convincing them that I should go with Charlie. They'd never go for you, too." His father started to speak, but Don spoke over him. "Please, just stay here with Larry and Colby."

"Why on earth would they object to me being there?" Alan demanded. "I'm his father. I have a right to be with my son."

"Just trust me on this, Dad. They want as few people in the room as possible, and I don't really want to take you to a federal prison."

"You're taking your brother," Alan pointed out, and Don grimaced. He didn't want to take Charlie there either, but he didn't have much choice. Why did his father have to be so stubborn? Alan shook his head. "I think I should –"

"Dad, no," Charlie said, and Don was startled to find that his brother had approached so near to them without his noticing. "I really don't think I could handle having you anywhere near any of those guys. I have to go, but . . ." He gulped and shook his head. "I don't want you to come."

"Megan's going," their father protested.

"Megan's going because it's part of her job, and because Don wants her to keep an eye on my state of mind so he can call a halt to things if I get too upset."

Don opened his mouth to deny the truth of this, but Charlie just gave him a look that told him there was no point. He sighed. "We'll see you in a few hours, Dad, okay?" he said instead.

"Fine," Alan grunted. He took Don's arm and pulled him further away from Charlie. "You will stop them if Charlie starts to get upset, won't you?" he said in a low voice. "You'll be able to?"

"I'll do my best," Don said. "We've got to get going."

"Okay. Drive safe." He walked over and gave Charlie a quick squeeze and then turned back to join Larry and Colby in the coffee shop of the motel. Don knew this was tearing him apart, and he wished he could fix it.

He turned and got in on the driver's side of the SUV. Charlie climbed into the back, letting Megan take shotgun. Don glanced over at her, and she gave him a sympathetic look. She'd been a silent witness to that uncomfortable confrontation with Dad.

Charlie was very quiet on the drive to SeaTac. It didn't surprise Don, who figured that he should let him have some space. Megan didn't push either of them to talk, so the only voice in the vehicle was the electronically generated voice of the GPS unit directing them to the prison. David was already there, working with Fogarty on interrogations, and Colby had been put on medical leave again after a doctor at the hospital had caught him trying to restrap his own ribs. Now that Charlie'd been found, he wasn't pushing so hard to stay on duty anyway.

During the check in process and the pat down, Charlie grew even more withdrawn. He was pale and too thin – his clothing hung loose on his frame. Don wished there was something he could do, but he'd provided the best help he knew how by having Megan present to keep an eye on his mood. Don knew he wasn't competent to judge it. The minute Charlie began to seem upset, he wanted to start punching people. It was an overreaction, but he couldn't entirely help it, especially not now.

They were ushered into a conference room and US Assistant District Attorney Mark Chavez explained the process to Charlie. As it had been for him and Megan that morning, there were to be a series of line ups because there were so many suspects. Presumably, the order would also be shuffled to avoid any chance of him or Megan influencing the results.

"So, now I need you to tell me some specific things the three men you heard speak say. Something they said frequently would be best."

Charlie shook his head. "Two of them only spoke once," he said. "The first one was on the boat. He said, 'It's soaked, sir.'"

"It's soaked?" USADA Chavez repeated, writing the words down.

"He was definitely subordinate to Bill, I'd guess," Charlie said. "He sounded younger, I think, and he . . . he was being given orders."

"Okay," Chavez said, continuing to make notes. "Now, something that Bill said frequently. He's the one who spoke to you most of the time, correct?" Charlie nodded. "All right, give me something he said."

"'Good morning, Dr. Eppes.' He said that every morning I saw him, unfailingly polite."

"Creepy," Megan observed. Chavez gave her an irritated glance.

"Definitely," Charlie said with a shudder.

"And the third man? When did he speak, and what did he say?"

Charlie bit his lips, looking uneasy, and Don wanted to put a stop to things right then, but he held his tongue. Charlie cleared his throat. "He said, 'We don't have time for a gag. Move, gentlemen.' He was talking to Bill."

"Why did he say that about a gag?" Chavez asked curiously.

Charlie shifted in his chair, looking unhappy. "It was when they were moving me, right at the end," he replied, his voice trembling slightly. "I was hoping that it meant rescue was on the way – that they were moving me to get me away from . . ." He took a deep breath. "I started yelling, so this guy punched me in the stomach to shut me up and get me to stop struggling. Bill asked why, and . . ." Charlie trailed off, shrugging.

Don found that his hands were fisted tightly, and he realized it was a very good thing that he wouldn't be in close proximity to the men who would be speaking. After all, it would hardly be a good thing for him to start beating up on prisoners who were already in custody.

Chavez handed the list of phrases to one of the guards who left to go pass them along to the people putting the line up together. Then he turned to Charlie. "All right, Dr. Eppes. We're going to go in just a few minutes. Your brother and Agent Reeves will be in the room with you, but they'll both stay behind you, out of sight. Don't look at them. I want you to focus on the line ups, but if you get to the point where you think you need a break, please let me know immediately. Me, not anyone else."

"Will there be lawyers in there?" Charlie asked, his nerves showing. "For the prisoners?"

"Yes, but they won't say anything. They're just there to observe that the proper procedures are followed."

"Okay," Charlie said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Whenever you're ready."

Don and Megan had already received strict instructions from the USADA. They were to move as little as possible, Don wasn't to speak at all and Megan was only to speak if she felt that Charlie needed a breather. It was clear that USADA Chavez didn't want to take any chances on this getting screwed up and Don was in complete agreement.

A few minutes later, the guard came back in and told Chavez that everything was ready. They were taken into an observation room. Don and Megan took their places in the back of the room and Charlie glanced at Don uncertainly as Chavez guided him to a spot a few feet from the window.

The first two groups of six men were total busts. Defense attorneys filed in and out at the same rate as defendants did. Don kept his eyes resolutely forward. He didn't want to get accused of anything like intimidation, and he had a feeling that, given his mood, his gaze might be misinterpreted.

The third group filed in. As number four spoke, Charlie stiffened. As per instructions, he didn't say anything until after all six had spoken. Chavez gave no sign of having picked up on Charlie's reaction, though. Like the other two times, he simply turned to Charlie and said, "Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie moistened his lips. "Could you have number four speak again?"

"Of course." Chavez nodded to the technician who was running the line up.

The man gave the order, and number four stepped forward and spoke the three sentences again. He was a tall man, very broad, maybe twenty-four, with sandy brown hair and freckles. He didn't look like a terrorist or a kidnapper, but Charlie said, "That's him. He's the one who said my shirt was soaked."

"You're certain?" Charlie nodded, and Chavez glanced over at one of the defense attorneys. The man looked displeased, but he didn't say anything.

Another line up passed without Charlie identifying anyone, but during the fifth, Charlie flinched like he'd been struck. Don sympathized. He felt the same way. Number three was the man who'd held a gun to their father's head and threatened to pull the trigger. When they'd all spoken, Charlie turned to Chavez. "Number three," he said, and his voice was no longer trembling, it was shaking. "That's Bill. That's him. I'm sure of it."

"Have number three step forward again," Chavez ordered, and the instruction was passed through to the line up room.

The man stepped forward and Don gazed at him intently. He'd seen and identified him that morning, but it was different seeing him now, with Charlie quietly freaking out in front of him. He was a little above six foot, had dark hair cut in a simple military style, and his eyes were definitely blue. He was fit and good-looking, and when he'd reached the mark on the floor, he began to speak. "Dr. Eppes, please allow me to express my sincerest hope that you are recovering well from your ordeal and to offer my best wishes for your future endeavors."

Charlie took a couple of steps back from the window as the man spoke, and he covered his mouth with his hand.

"Perhaps one day we'll get to play that chess game," he added with a smile.

The technician was already ordering the line up room cleared and Megan stepped up and spoke quietly to Chavez. Only the fiercest determination kept Don from rushing forward and putting an arm around Charlie to get him out of the room, and only the knowledge of what a defense attorney could make of the gesture enabled him to manage it.

"We're taking a break," Chavez announced, and they left the room by the door opposite to the one the defense attorneys entered and exited by.

As soon as they were out of sight, Don gave way to his instincts. He hurried forward and put his arm around his brother. "You okay, Chuck?" he asked.

"That was him," Charlie said, looking up at him. "Did you recognize him?"

Don glanced at Chavez for permission. The attorney nodded. "You each identified him independently, there can be no doubt of that."

Don sighed with relief and looked at his brother. "Yeah, buddy, I recognized him."

"Did you . . ." Charlie blinked at him. "Is that what you were doing this morning?"

Don nodded. "Megan and I both, actually. So we could be here with you."

Charlie nodded, sinking into a padded chair. Don sat on one side of him, Chavez on the other. Megan went and grabbed him a bottle of water from the bar fridge in the corner. Charlie took it with a smile for thanks.

Chavez leaned towards him. "You do realize that he couldn't see you, Dr. Eppes?" Chavez said reassuringly, and Charlie nodded. "He was only guessing that you had to be there."

Charlie grimaced ruefully. "It wasn't exactly subtle when all of the things we had them saying were things that were said to me."

"Unfortunately," Chavez said. "You're doing great, though. I know it can't be easy."

"Can I have a little more time before the next group?"

"Of course." Chavez stood up. "I'll be back shortly."

Charlie nodded. When the door shut behind Chavez, he put his head down on the table and Don put a hand on his back. "You okay?"

"It was weird as hell seeing his face. I'd kind of gotten used to the idea that he didn't have one."

"So, did he look like you imagined?" Megan asked.

"I didn't really imagine a face," Charlie said. "I really . . . I don't think I wanted to see him looking like a normal man."

Don reached out and put an arm around his brother's shoulders, squeezing lightly to reassure him. Charlie gave him a grateful glance.

Megan sat down opposite them at the table. "Why was your shirt soaked?" she asked curiously.

"What do you mean?" Charlie looked up at her, eyes wide. Don had wondered that, too, but now he remembered Charlie's words . . . _I had blood on me_. That had happened on the boat, as had the comment about the soaked shirt. One plus one added up to two, and Don suddenly knew why Charlie's shirt had been wet. Don tried to catch her eye and indicate that this wasn't a good question to ask, but she was already speaking.

"You said that one guy, number four in group three, said your shirt was soaked. How did you get wet?"

"I . . ." Charlie shook his head. "I needed to get clean," he said. "I was . . . I was covered in blood and I . . . there wasn't anything else to use."

Megan's brows drew together with sympathy. "Oh, Charlie, that must have been awful."

Charlie shuddered under Don's arm. "I threw up," he said softly. "See, I'd had it on me for hours. I just thought it was . . . I didn't know what it was, but I never imagined it was . . ."

"I can see that," Megan replied. "I am so sorry you had to go through this, Charlie," she said.

"Yeah, me too," Charlie said pathetically. "Do you have any idea how many more guys I have to listen to?"

"I think I'd better take the fifth on that, Charlie," Don said.

Charlie blinked at him, looking puzzled, then nodded his understanding. "We don't want to screw anything up for the court case."

"Exactly," Don said and, greatly daring, he tousled his brother's hair.

"Don!" Charlie exclaimed irritably, pushing his hand away.

"What?" Don asked innocently, and Charlie glowered at him. Don was more than a little surprised by how well Charlie seemed to be bouncing back from this, but he wasn't about to argue.

Charlie downed the remainder of the water bottle and stood up. "Where do you suppose the restroom is?"

Don rose. "Let's go find –"

"Do you need to go?" Charlie asked, giving Don a dubious look.

"What? Charlie –"

"I don't need a babysitter, I need a toilet," Charlie said.

Don grimaced and caught Megan's eye to see what she seemed to think. She smiled at Charlie. "I'm pretty sure our escort is still outside," she said. "I'll bet they know."

Don relaxed back into his chair as Charlie stepped out into the hall and spoke with the man just outside. The door fell shut slowly on its pneumatic hinges, and Don made a face at Megan. "Is it just me, or does he seem to be coping remarkably well with this?" he asked.

"Remarkably well sums it up nicely," Megan said, but she looked worried. "The euphoria of rescue and real food, of seeing you and your dad, it's giving him a bit of a boost in the mood department."

Don listened to what she said and considered what she didn't say. "You don't expect it to last."

"Not hardly," Megan said gently. "He's going to crash, it's just a question of when. I'm reassured that he showed no compulsiveness over the P vs. NP stuff he saw last night, but this is all going to hit him sooner or later. I'm betting on sooner."

"Let's hope it lasts through the line ups," Don said, reflecting that Charlie would prefer not to break down in public.

"Oh, I'd guess it will. He'll probably be fairly okay till you guys get home. He's still outside his norms here. He expects to feel unsettled. When he gets home and back to normalcy, and he doesn't feel better, that's when you can expect some stronger reactions."

Don leaned back in his chair, obscurely reassured by Megan's assessment. He realized that he'd been worried that Charlie was in some form of denial that would cause real issues when it broke. This sounded more like a buffer. "Why do you suppose Bill pulled that stunt?" he asked. "Was he trying to snarl the line up?"

Megan paused contemplatively, then shook her head. "No. I'd say it was an exertion of control over the situation and over Charlie."

"Control?" Don repeated. "He surely can't expect to have any control at this point."

"Charlie felt it," Megan pointed out, and Don scowled. "That man's words and choices governed Charlie's life for the last week," she said. "And from behind bars, he's making plans for the future that include Charlie. Everyone present knows that's not going to happen, even Bill, but he's still trying to make Charlie feel his power."

"And it worked," Don growled.

"And it worked," Megan agreed. "Which Bill was counting on."

"Damn it!" Don stood up, sending the chair flying backwards with his knees. "What the hell does he want with him now?"

"It's a power trip, Don. He's not going to get another chance to pull it, so don't worry about it."

"It's just hard not to get angry when Charlie gets so . . ." He shook his head. "You know."

"I do," Megan said. "And I'll talk to Charlie about it later. Now, sit down and get a handle on yourself. Charlie could be back at any moment and we need to be calm to help him stay calm."

Don nodded shortly and sat back down in the chair he had vacated, pulling it back up to the table. She was right. She was always right when it came to these things. He took several deep breaths to bring himself back under control.


End file.
